* This chapter contains language that is offensive. It has been used because I genuinely believe that the attitudes represented by it will (should we ever leave our world to settle elsewhere) follow us into the future. I wish it were otherwise. *
The Jester's shuttle bay was crowded, everyone on board who had no pressing duties had decided to see them off. The decision to take the shuttle instead of one of the smaller tugs was due to the fact that the entire well deck had been sealed off to preserve evidence. That injunction had come from the USPF liaison on the ANS Harlan Jones, the other ship on station, a frigate of relatively new production compared to the one they would be going to. Cameron hated leaving his ship, but Captain Zhao had insisted that he accompany his prisoner, and deliver his crew's depositions in person. He had little choice, but decided to let Bao-Jian, his pilot, have a bit of fun flying the shuttle.
The Jester's shuttle was an old, military surplus Skipray Avionics SA-5F 'Titan', it was capable of independent transatmospheric flight from orbit to ground and back, without the need for boosters. While it may have had limited cargo lifting capacity, it could carry almost a third of its own weight down from orbit, and still have power to maneuver in flight. The Titans hadn't been of much interest to any of the major navies in the Known Sphere, although many of them had found use for deploying special forces units due to their speed, power, and durability. Without a cargo to carry, and in deep space, the SA-5F was almost as nimble as an aerospace fighter, but had way more endurance. Properly fitted out, a Titan could operate without support for as long as a week with only the most minimal crew on board.
Cameron and Bao-Jian were occupied with the preflight check while Dirk strapped a heavily sedated Porter into a flight chair. He made certain that the man's handcuffs were secure after locking his harness tight, because the last thing they needed was for him to start having a flailing temper tantrum. He had made all kinds of threats, promises both dire and tempting, and offered every insult possible while he had been confined on the Jester, awaiting transfer to the Kuài Bō.
Cameron kept an eye on Dirk. Porter had made an ill-considered remark to him about what 'his people' would do to Alex when he was free to communicate with them. It had taken three of them to pull Dirk out of the room, and Porter had ended up in the med bay again having his gunshot wound patched up a second time, as well as being treated for several new injuries, including an internally lacerated trachea. Dirk had tried to squeeze his head off at the neck, one-handed.
Cameron had never seen the man more enraged in his life, and he was forced to admit , in that moment, he'd been afraid of Dirk in a very unsettling way. Dirk would have killed Porter, of that he was sure, but it was the cold silence that had made his actions so shocking. He hadn't yelled or cursed at him, he'd just moved with absolutely frightening speed, and struck the man in such total silence, that everyone in the room had been slow to react. Porter had been very quiet since, and Cameron could see the hatred in his eyes when Dirk came into view.
Dirk had apologized to Cameron for his behavior, and suggested that he be left on Minotaur when they arrived. Part of him was truly tempted to accept, but he forced himself to admit that he had considered just tossing Porter out an airlock, seconds before Dirk tried to pull his windpipe out. He'd told him to wait for the USPF to decide on his case before making any commitment one way or another. The fact was that he needed Dirk for their next job, and his latest impulsive behavior wasn't really the worst he'd ever seen. It was a safe bet that Dirk carried some psychological baggage from his time on Draconis, and hadn't dealt with all of it yet.
The preflight check completed, Cameron released the docking clamps and umbilicals, gave Bao-Jian a thumbs up, and tried to relax in his seat. His pilot was grinning from ear to ear.
"All passengers, please ensure that you, and your personal effects, have been secured for acceleration, and that you have reviewed the emergency safety procedures for this flight. If you have any questions, well, its too late, dāizi. Here we go!" Said Bao-Jian, as the shuttle dropped out of its socket-like cradle on the belly of the ship, pushing the throttle hard once they were clear of the Jester's hull and lined up with their destination.
Bao-Jian was refining his course data for the fastest approach to the ANS Kuài Bō, while Cameron kept an eye on their communications and radar. By his estimate they would pull alongside in just over half an hour. He decided that it would be courteous to notify the Kuài Bō that they were en route.
"ANS Kuài Bō, this is Captain Cameron Marshall of the Jester, on an unlisted shuttle inbound per your instructions, to deliver one Zebadiah Porter to navy custody. I estimate our total flight time at three seven minutes, do you confirm?" He said over the shuttle's open channel.
"Three seven minutes confirmed, Captain. Maintain your current heading, there are other craft in the pattern. Be advised, there is a refueling tanker and several tenders at 307 by 22 from your current position, and you will pass within 500K meters of their area of operation." Came the Navy ship's reply.
"Roger, Navy, we have them on sensors, and we'll keep an eye on them. Marshall, out." He and Bao-Jian shared an eye roll, as though they hadn't noticed the very large tanker off the shuttle's port bow.
Cameron had originally purchased the shuttle because the price had been far less than he would have paid for a heavy lift cargo shuttle, but if he'd known what kind of a fuel hog it was he might have left it alone. Skipray Avionics had built the F series with a view to surviving orbital insertions while under fire from ground based defensive systems, as a result, the SA-5F was equipped with military grade detection and countermeasures electronics. Fuel economy had been pretty far down the list. He couldn't have known then, how fortunate his purchase would be for him today.
They had been under way for about ten minutes when he noticed an odd sensor reading on the screen in front of him. He couldn't understand what he was seeing at first, and then the strident warbling tone of the threat warning radar filled the cockpit. He felt as though his stomach had suddenly turned to lead, but he managed to keep his wits, and yelled out to Bao-Jian.
"Bao! We've got a missile locked onto us, range two eight zero klicks, and closing fast! Put it to our stern, then push the throttle hard, and don't let up." He told his pilot, and opened up a channel to the Kuài Bō. "Kuài Bō, this is Marshall, we've just been fired upon and have a missile of unknown type homing in on us. Please advise. Over."
The shuttle's long-range radar was now active, and Cameron was tracking a small craft shadowing them at just over 300 kilometers distance. It had been running silent and had clearly been modified for stealth, because he was barely getting a fix on its position. He could see that they were now on a rapidly converging flight path, which meant that their craft, whatever it was, probably had close in weapons, probably heavy machine guns or light autocannon. If they had built up a higher base velocity, then overtaking the shuttle would have been easier, but someone over there had slipped up and gotten trigger happy. That little bit of luck might be the only thing that kept them alive.
"Marshall, this is Captain Zhao of the Kuài Bō, we have a firing solution on your inbound bogie, and are about to fire, please maintain your current heading and acceleration." There was a long pause, then: "Firing in 3, 2, 1. Now!" The Kuài Bō fired a single antimissile laser into the incoming missile, and less than a second later, it's fuel detonated, taking the warhead with it.
"Captain Marshall, I have ordered my ship to get underway, to help with the small craft trying to intercept you, but the Bō doesn't live up to its name, and we may not get there before your attackers. We won't be able to get a good firing solution until we get within 300K meters; my ship doesn't have weapons much heavier than yours, just more of them." She told him, in a tone that spoke of a profound regret. She clearly wished to do more.
"Captain Zhao, you've bought us some time, and I will definitely be first in line buying drinks if we make it out of this. Thank you. Marshall, out." He said, and closed the connection.
Unfortunately, that still left whoever was closing in to deal with, and they were coming in fast. Whatever was coming at them, it was making up the distance with a serious advantage in base velocity. Cameron knew that there was no way they would be able to get out of range, and he wondered if there was any chance they were going to live through this. He was trying to come up with a plan when Dirk, who had been unusually quiet, spoke.
"Captain, I have an idea. We have a couple of survey remotes onboard, that you bought to enhance our search capability on this new job, right?" He asked, hopefully.
"Yeah, but what good are they?" Cameron asked in return, somewhat confused.
He listened as Dirk laid out his plan, then said: "That has got to be the craziest thing I've ever heard in my life, but if we don't do something quick, we're fucked. Go for it."
Dirk unbuckled himself from his seat, made his way aft, and proceeded to put on a vacsuit from the storage locker next to the hatch leading to the shuttle's cargo bay. He finished sealing the suit up, connected its systems to his cranial interface with the cable provided, and locked the helmet in place. The helmet had a clear faceplate that gave excellent visibility, and used a heads up display to provide the user with information. Satisfied, he stepped into the cargo area to put his plan in motion.
Cameron moved out of the copilot's seat, and sat next to Porter, who was now becoming aware of his surroundings as the effect of the sedation wore off. He looked at Porter, but didn't say anything at first, as he wanted to ask as few questions as possible. Porter looked miserable, and it was he who broke the silence.
"I guess you don't get to turn me over to the Navy after all, do you?" His question ended with a smug tone.
"I'm assuming that our pursuers are associates of yours, and they were eavesdropping on our communications chatter, and therefore knew we had you in custody. Which suggests that, as far as they're concerned, you're extremely disposable. The thing is, we've planned a little surprise, and since you're going to end up in custody or dead anyway, you could help us out by telling me what you know." He said, looking into Porter's eyes.
Porter decided to take the opportunity to vent his spleen.
"Forget it, faggot! You, your chink lackey over there," he nodded at Bao-Jian, "and that whoring, godless, thug are going to burn, but I die saved! My only regret is that I won't be alive to watch that fag nigger of yours crying when my people blow you away!" He finished with a spray of spittle in Cameron's direction.
He had assumed that Porter was from Jefferson, but he hadn't counted on his being a Paylenite. Of all humanity's reactionary bigots, Paylenites had to be the worst, and their certainty regarding the moral rectitude of their beliefs was impervious to criticism. The entire Paylenite community was probably less than a hundred thousand, but Cameron felt that was a hundred thousand too many. Ezekiel Moses Paylen had been deported from Earth, along with his entire congregation, and a few others who held similar beliefs, to the only world that would take them: Jefferson. Paylen had managed to combine 19th century religious bigotry and biblically justified racism, with post-millennial fundamentalism, and a practically neolithic understanding of economics, then set out to put his vision of a perfect state into practice. To say that it had not gone well would be an understatement, and nine years later his people had been starving when he pronounced that the growing and production of tobacco was not a sin, only its consumption, and the State of Paylen became the single largest producer, per capita, within a decade, and were second in volume to only Minotaur to this day.
He wiped the spit off of his face and was about to say something pithy in return, but was interrupted by Dirk on the com.
"Captain, I'm all set to go in here, bleed the air out of the cargo hold, then open the port side loading door." He said, quickly.
Cameron jumped back into the copilot's seat again, and did as instructed, waiting for Dirk to execute the first part of the plan. Looking back at the navigation readout, they had little time to waste, their pursuers were gaining faster with each passing minute.
"Remote One is away, close the door, I'm already in position at the aft airlock." There was a pause. "Chaff bomb away!" He yelled.
There was silence in the cockpit, then the radar went nuts. The chaff bomb had detonated with excellent timing, a small, low velocity explosive charge from a kit used to cut airlocks open if they were damaged, had just spread hundreds of thousands of bits of aluminized mylar confetti across the volume of space directly between them and the craft in pursuit. This meant they were, for all practical intents and purposes, invisible to radar and LIDAR. It also meant they were blind to what was behind the wall of interference they'd just created. Remote One would be their eyes as it drifted away to port.
"Remote two is away! Closing the airlock. Airlock closed, Captain, you can air up the cargo bay again. We should be getting telemetry from Remote One now." Dirk informed them.
The plan was simple enough: Watch their attackers approach from Remote One, and use Remote Two to carry an IED straight at their enemy, now blinded by a rapidly expanding cloud of interference. The IED was cobbled together using the bursting charges from a dozen, now empty, chaff dispensers, packed into a shallow plastic container taped to the nose of the survey remote, with a large box of assorted nuts and bolts, about five kilos in all, in front of that. The small craft coming up behind them would come through the cloud of chaff within minutes.
It worked exactly as planned.
Remote Two was less than 250 meters away when the pursuing vessel punched through the cloud of rapidly dispersing chaff. It detonated at just under one hundred, sending its five kilograms of shrapnel into their flight path. The compound velocity of impact was about 7 kilometers per second, and later investigation by the Alliance Navy would show that nearly 80 percent of the projectiles had hit something. Seven large bolts with nuts attached punched through the vessel's cockpit, killing the three men aboard, and causing catastrophic damage to the interior. Its engine must have had a failsafe, because it cut out seconds after the crew compartment was opened to space.
Bao-Jian turned the shuttle over, and began decelerating on a vector to eventually match courses with the Kuài Bō. Their full power flight from certain death had almost taken them beyond the shuttle's point of no return, and if they were going to make any kind of rendezvous under their own power, they had to start right away. The only consolation was that the Kuài Bō was coming to meet them, which made it much more likely they would get back under their own steam. With little more to do than sit back and make sure the shuttle didn't run into anything, Cameron sat back in his seat beside Bao-Jian and tried to relax. Dirk, having returned to the flight deck, had a different opinion.
"Hey, aren't we gonna check out the wreck? We're privateer salvage operators, that's our prize drifting away, let's go get it." He said, with almost juvenile enthusiasm.
Cameron gave it some thought, but the truth was he wanted to get Porter out of his hair, and the only way to do that was to meet up with the Navy ship headed their way. The Jester, however, was under no such constraints, and he used the shuttle's tight-beam laser communications to order Gandu to track down and recover their attacker's vessel.
With any luck, he'd be able to claim it as a prize, and if that didn't pan out, then maybe the Navy would pay for the craft's recovery out of its own pockets. Either way, there was a good chance they would be making money at the end of the day. He was just as glad to have survived, but a payday made the living that much sweeter.
Although, considering how many laws they'd just broken to stay alive, he'd also be just as happy not to end up in prison.
The Jester's shuttle was an old, military surplus Skipray Avionics SA-5F 'Titan', it was capable of independent transatmospheric flight from orbit to ground and back, without the need for boosters. While it may have had limited cargo lifting capacity, it could carry almost a third of its own weight down from orbit, and still have power to maneuver in flight. The Titans hadn't been of much interest to any of the major navies in the Known Sphere, although many of them had found use for deploying special forces units due to their speed, power, and durability. Without a cargo to carry, and in deep space, the SA-5F was almost as nimble as an aerospace fighter, but had way more endurance. Properly fitted out, a Titan could operate without support for as long as a week with only the most minimal crew on board.
Cameron and Bao-Jian were occupied with the preflight check while Dirk strapped a heavily sedated Porter into a flight chair. He made certain that the man's handcuffs were secure after locking his harness tight, because the last thing they needed was for him to start having a flailing temper tantrum. He had made all kinds of threats, promises both dire and tempting, and offered every insult possible while he had been confined on the Jester, awaiting transfer to the Kuài Bō.
Cameron kept an eye on Dirk. Porter had made an ill-considered remark to him about what 'his people' would do to Alex when he was free to communicate with them. It had taken three of them to pull Dirk out of the room, and Porter had ended up in the med bay again having his gunshot wound patched up a second time, as well as being treated for several new injuries, including an internally lacerated trachea. Dirk had tried to squeeze his head off at the neck, one-handed.
Cameron had never seen the man more enraged in his life, and he was forced to admit , in that moment, he'd been afraid of Dirk in a very unsettling way. Dirk would have killed Porter, of that he was sure, but it was the cold silence that had made his actions so shocking. He hadn't yelled or cursed at him, he'd just moved with absolutely frightening speed, and struck the man in such total silence, that everyone in the room had been slow to react. Porter had been very quiet since, and Cameron could see the hatred in his eyes when Dirk came into view.
Dirk had apologized to Cameron for his behavior, and suggested that he be left on Minotaur when they arrived. Part of him was truly tempted to accept, but he forced himself to admit that he had considered just tossing Porter out an airlock, seconds before Dirk tried to pull his windpipe out. He'd told him to wait for the USPF to decide on his case before making any commitment one way or another. The fact was that he needed Dirk for their next job, and his latest impulsive behavior wasn't really the worst he'd ever seen. It was a safe bet that Dirk carried some psychological baggage from his time on Draconis, and hadn't dealt with all of it yet.
The preflight check completed, Cameron released the docking clamps and umbilicals, gave Bao-Jian a thumbs up, and tried to relax in his seat. His pilot was grinning from ear to ear.
"All passengers, please ensure that you, and your personal effects, have been secured for acceleration, and that you have reviewed the emergency safety procedures for this flight. If you have any questions, well, its too late, dāizi. Here we go!" Said Bao-Jian, as the shuttle dropped out of its socket-like cradle on the belly of the ship, pushing the throttle hard once they were clear of the Jester's hull and lined up with their destination.
Bao-Jian was refining his course data for the fastest approach to the ANS Kuài Bō, while Cameron kept an eye on their communications and radar. By his estimate they would pull alongside in just over half an hour. He decided that it would be courteous to notify the Kuài Bō that they were en route.
"ANS Kuài Bō, this is Captain Cameron Marshall of the Jester, on an unlisted shuttle inbound per your instructions, to deliver one Zebadiah Porter to navy custody. I estimate our total flight time at three seven minutes, do you confirm?" He said over the shuttle's open channel.
"Three seven minutes confirmed, Captain. Maintain your current heading, there are other craft in the pattern. Be advised, there is a refueling tanker and several tenders at 307 by 22 from your current position, and you will pass within 500K meters of their area of operation." Came the Navy ship's reply.
"Roger, Navy, we have them on sensors, and we'll keep an eye on them. Marshall, out." He and Bao-Jian shared an eye roll, as though they hadn't noticed the very large tanker off the shuttle's port bow.
Cameron had originally purchased the shuttle because the price had been far less than he would have paid for a heavy lift cargo shuttle, but if he'd known what kind of a fuel hog it was he might have left it alone. Skipray Avionics had built the F series with a view to surviving orbital insertions while under fire from ground based defensive systems, as a result, the SA-5F was equipped with military grade detection and countermeasures electronics. Fuel economy had been pretty far down the list. He couldn't have known then, how fortunate his purchase would be for him today.
They had been under way for about ten minutes when he noticed an odd sensor reading on the screen in front of him. He couldn't understand what he was seeing at first, and then the strident warbling tone of the threat warning radar filled the cockpit. He felt as though his stomach had suddenly turned to lead, but he managed to keep his wits, and yelled out to Bao-Jian.
"Bao! We've got a missile locked onto us, range two eight zero klicks, and closing fast! Put it to our stern, then push the throttle hard, and don't let up." He told his pilot, and opened up a channel to the Kuài Bō. "Kuài Bō, this is Marshall, we've just been fired upon and have a missile of unknown type homing in on us. Please advise. Over."
The shuttle's long-range radar was now active, and Cameron was tracking a small craft shadowing them at just over 300 kilometers distance. It had been running silent and had clearly been modified for stealth, because he was barely getting a fix on its position. He could see that they were now on a rapidly converging flight path, which meant that their craft, whatever it was, probably had close in weapons, probably heavy machine guns or light autocannon. If they had built up a higher base velocity, then overtaking the shuttle would have been easier, but someone over there had slipped up and gotten trigger happy. That little bit of luck might be the only thing that kept them alive.
"Marshall, this is Captain Zhao of the Kuài Bō, we have a firing solution on your inbound bogie, and are about to fire, please maintain your current heading and acceleration." There was a long pause, then: "Firing in 3, 2, 1. Now!" The Kuài Bō fired a single antimissile laser into the incoming missile, and less than a second later, it's fuel detonated, taking the warhead with it.
"Captain Marshall, I have ordered my ship to get underway, to help with the small craft trying to intercept you, but the Bō doesn't live up to its name, and we may not get there before your attackers. We won't be able to get a good firing solution until we get within 300K meters; my ship doesn't have weapons much heavier than yours, just more of them." She told him, in a tone that spoke of a profound regret. She clearly wished to do more.
"Captain Zhao, you've bought us some time, and I will definitely be first in line buying drinks if we make it out of this. Thank you. Marshall, out." He said, and closed the connection.
Unfortunately, that still left whoever was closing in to deal with, and they were coming in fast. Whatever was coming at them, it was making up the distance with a serious advantage in base velocity. Cameron knew that there was no way they would be able to get out of range, and he wondered if there was any chance they were going to live through this. He was trying to come up with a plan when Dirk, who had been unusually quiet, spoke.
"Captain, I have an idea. We have a couple of survey remotes onboard, that you bought to enhance our search capability on this new job, right?" He asked, hopefully.
"Yeah, but what good are they?" Cameron asked in return, somewhat confused.
He listened as Dirk laid out his plan, then said: "That has got to be the craziest thing I've ever heard in my life, but if we don't do something quick, we're fucked. Go for it."
Dirk unbuckled himself from his seat, made his way aft, and proceeded to put on a vacsuit from the storage locker next to the hatch leading to the shuttle's cargo bay. He finished sealing the suit up, connected its systems to his cranial interface with the cable provided, and locked the helmet in place. The helmet had a clear faceplate that gave excellent visibility, and used a heads up display to provide the user with information. Satisfied, he stepped into the cargo area to put his plan in motion.
Cameron moved out of the copilot's seat, and sat next to Porter, who was now becoming aware of his surroundings as the effect of the sedation wore off. He looked at Porter, but didn't say anything at first, as he wanted to ask as few questions as possible. Porter looked miserable, and it was he who broke the silence.
"I guess you don't get to turn me over to the Navy after all, do you?" His question ended with a smug tone.
"I'm assuming that our pursuers are associates of yours, and they were eavesdropping on our communications chatter, and therefore knew we had you in custody. Which suggests that, as far as they're concerned, you're extremely disposable. The thing is, we've planned a little surprise, and since you're going to end up in custody or dead anyway, you could help us out by telling me what you know." He said, looking into Porter's eyes.
Porter decided to take the opportunity to vent his spleen.
"Forget it, faggot! You, your chink lackey over there," he nodded at Bao-Jian, "and that whoring, godless, thug are going to burn, but I die saved! My only regret is that I won't be alive to watch that fag nigger of yours crying when my people blow you away!" He finished with a spray of spittle in Cameron's direction.
He had assumed that Porter was from Jefferson, but he hadn't counted on his being a Paylenite. Of all humanity's reactionary bigots, Paylenites had to be the worst, and their certainty regarding the moral rectitude of their beliefs was impervious to criticism. The entire Paylenite community was probably less than a hundred thousand, but Cameron felt that was a hundred thousand too many. Ezekiel Moses Paylen had been deported from Earth, along with his entire congregation, and a few others who held similar beliefs, to the only world that would take them: Jefferson. Paylen had managed to combine 19th century religious bigotry and biblically justified racism, with post-millennial fundamentalism, and a practically neolithic understanding of economics, then set out to put his vision of a perfect state into practice. To say that it had not gone well would be an understatement, and nine years later his people had been starving when he pronounced that the growing and production of tobacco was not a sin, only its consumption, and the State of Paylen became the single largest producer, per capita, within a decade, and were second in volume to only Minotaur to this day.
He wiped the spit off of his face and was about to say something pithy in return, but was interrupted by Dirk on the com.
"Captain, I'm all set to go in here, bleed the air out of the cargo hold, then open the port side loading door." He said, quickly.
Cameron jumped back into the copilot's seat again, and did as instructed, waiting for Dirk to execute the first part of the plan. Looking back at the navigation readout, they had little time to waste, their pursuers were gaining faster with each passing minute.
"Remote One is away, close the door, I'm already in position at the aft airlock." There was a pause. "Chaff bomb away!" He yelled.
There was silence in the cockpit, then the radar went nuts. The chaff bomb had detonated with excellent timing, a small, low velocity explosive charge from a kit used to cut airlocks open if they were damaged, had just spread hundreds of thousands of bits of aluminized mylar confetti across the volume of space directly between them and the craft in pursuit. This meant they were, for all practical intents and purposes, invisible to radar and LIDAR. It also meant they were blind to what was behind the wall of interference they'd just created. Remote One would be their eyes as it drifted away to port.
"Remote two is away! Closing the airlock. Airlock closed, Captain, you can air up the cargo bay again. We should be getting telemetry from Remote One now." Dirk informed them.
The plan was simple enough: Watch their attackers approach from Remote One, and use Remote Two to carry an IED straight at their enemy, now blinded by a rapidly expanding cloud of interference. The IED was cobbled together using the bursting charges from a dozen, now empty, chaff dispensers, packed into a shallow plastic container taped to the nose of the survey remote, with a large box of assorted nuts and bolts, about five kilos in all, in front of that. The small craft coming up behind them would come through the cloud of chaff within minutes.
It worked exactly as planned.
Remote Two was less than 250 meters away when the pursuing vessel punched through the cloud of rapidly dispersing chaff. It detonated at just under one hundred, sending its five kilograms of shrapnel into their flight path. The compound velocity of impact was about 7 kilometers per second, and later investigation by the Alliance Navy would show that nearly 80 percent of the projectiles had hit something. Seven large bolts with nuts attached punched through the vessel's cockpit, killing the three men aboard, and causing catastrophic damage to the interior. Its engine must have had a failsafe, because it cut out seconds after the crew compartment was opened to space.
Bao-Jian turned the shuttle over, and began decelerating on a vector to eventually match courses with the Kuài Bō. Their full power flight from certain death had almost taken them beyond the shuttle's point of no return, and if they were going to make any kind of rendezvous under their own power, they had to start right away. The only consolation was that the Kuài Bō was coming to meet them, which made it much more likely they would get back under their own steam. With little more to do than sit back and make sure the shuttle didn't run into anything, Cameron sat back in his seat beside Bao-Jian and tried to relax. Dirk, having returned to the flight deck, had a different opinion.
"Hey, aren't we gonna check out the wreck? We're privateer salvage operators, that's our prize drifting away, let's go get it." He said, with almost juvenile enthusiasm.
Cameron gave it some thought, but the truth was he wanted to get Porter out of his hair, and the only way to do that was to meet up with the Navy ship headed their way. The Jester, however, was under no such constraints, and he used the shuttle's tight-beam laser communications to order Gandu to track down and recover their attacker's vessel.
With any luck, he'd be able to claim it as a prize, and if that didn't pan out, then maybe the Navy would pay for the craft's recovery out of its own pockets. Either way, there was a good chance they would be making money at the end of the day. He was just as glad to have survived, but a payday made the living that much sweeter.
Although, considering how many laws they'd just broken to stay alive, he'd also be just as happy not to end up in prison.
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