The Kolkata and the rest of the Third Fleet spilled out of riftspace into the Bedalajara system, a region well known to the Kolkata’s star charts, just inside the Sovereignty’s borders.

  The meeting between the pirates and Dusk would have taken place less than twelve hours from now. Though, as Karim scanned the system from the bridge’s wallscreen, nothing showed but the black of space. If the pirates had arrived before Karim’s forces, any emissions would have stood out like a dim star.

  Due to the nature of light delay, the Third Fleet still remained hidden firmly in a shroud, yet to be resolved into the pirate’s universe.

  “We’ve arrived too early,” said Karim. “Or perhaps, too late. Chaasker, any points of interest– anywhere they could be hiding?”

  Scanning an inner region of the system, Chassker highlighted a cluster of structures trailing behind one of the smaller terrestrial planets nearly nineteen light-hours distant, or ninety-five hours at maximum sub-light, from where they exited rift.

  “Here,” Chaasker pointed, “a grouping of manufactories and habitat platforms. If I’m reading this right, most if not all of the registrations on those structures expired decades ago, some even recorded as stolen.”

  “Is this it?” Karim posited, “Is this our pirate Shang-gri La?”

  “Doubtful, Admiral,” said an oddly tense Commodore der Waals on the wallscreen. “It’s more than likely a cobbled-together waystation. Likely built from scrap bought off the vasser black markets.”

  “These are all human vessels,” Karim interjected.

  “Vasser sell what they can get their hands on. And vasser ships aren’t built with humans in consideration. At least, not vessels showing this much dilapidation,” explained der Waals.

  “All structures are dark, showing no emissions,” Chaasker said.

  “So if they are here, there they are,” Karim stated. “Tell me, Chaasker, do Sovereignty records show any trading vessels passing through Bedalajara in the past year?”

  Chaasker punched in a query and scanned the records.

  “None,” she said. “No record exists of merchant vessels, navy or otherwise, transiting the system in the past year. Instead, I show several manifests tracking paths through Sha Sahar and Helgatsuk systems, avoiding Bedalajara altogether.”

  “Strange, isn’t it?” Karim remarked, “being on the edge of the Sovereignty sphere, and on a direct route leading back to Belltower, why would ships toil the long way ‘round?”

  Karim knew der Waals and he knew what the answer was, but it took Chaasker saying it to break the silence of his contemplation.

  “Admiral, because someone was deliberately routing them around the system,” Chaasker said tactfully.

  Karim smiled. “You would accuse someone in the Sovereignty of doing that deliberately?”

  Chaasker looked up from her terminal, alarm showing on her face.

  “Good,” Karim said, dithering her tension, “because you’re right. It is advantageous to question those with power above you, if only to steer them back onto the path.”

  “Can we get on with this?” der Waals interrupted, his eagerness to resume the pirate hunt showing, “After Lyonesse, we've wasted enough time to not squander more in philosophy.”

  “I would remind you to not question the directives of your commanding officer, Commodore,” Karim said, irking der Waals, and in stark contrast to the advice he had just given Chaasker. “And it was in staying put in Lyonesse, gathering our thoughts as well as supplies and material, that ultimately fruit was borne. Galavanting after more pirate whisps would have just led us on a detour to where we inevitably find ourselves. By the grace of God, we will have our quarry.”

  “And our quarry lies in hiding amongst those ramshackle hulks?” der Waals asked. “I see no reason for Aiden and his ilk to linger here.”

  “If Dusk is right, and a ship has come to meet, then we will have our man. If not…” Karim started, trailing off as if waiting for providence.

  “This is bigger than one man,” der Waals argued. “We must find their base of operations.”

  “We have heard little of pirates in years past. It wasn’t until this Aiden and his compatriots that the problem became diffuse,” said Karim. “I would wager that this is the rot that plagues us, not this wayward world on the brink of space.”

  “You’re not serious,” der Waals said, and Karim knew the man had become obsessed, laser-focused on finding this hidden planet of dissidents who for all Karim knew were fine enough citizens, just making their homes in unseemly places.

  “The Third Fleet is not in the business of policing nascent colonies, Commodore,” Karim said. To which der Waals only grumbled.

  “Shall we move on the waystation, Admiral?” asked Corporal Chaasker, slotting herself back into her role.

  “If gone dark they have, then they must have been tipped off ahead of our arrival. Light delay or no, I’m sure they are waiting to see what we do,” said Karim, though he knew any waiting on the part of the pirates would rely on waiting the nineteen hours for light to pass from the Third Fleet to the waystation’s sensors.

  Karim wasn’t about to wait that long for their response.

  “Open a bulletin,” he said, “Let’s see what they have to say.”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  “Sir– and give away our presence?” Chaasker questioned.

  He could see der Waals’ look of derision.

  “You disagree, Commodore?” he asked.

  “We should press our advantage, by the time they realise it we could be on top of them,” der Waals argued.

  “We have no way of knowing what sort of defensive capabilities lie in wait within the waystation,” Karim stated, “I am not about to risk the ships of this fleet on chasing down a rabbit into a thicket, lest a frightened boar seek to strike. Ultimately, it’s answers we are after, not to quarrel with a wreck in the void.”

  “Admiral, I have sent out a wideband, so far no resp–” Chaasker began to say before cutting herself off. “My apologies, sir. I have a bulletin request; video. Shall I?”

  “Please,” Karim gestured to the wallscreen.

  On the wallscreen before him, a small cockpit boiled into view along with two faces. On the left sat a stark-white man without expression, with slim features and narrow eyes. On the right, a black man, far younger than the other, with a face of unapologetic joy spoke first.

  “As sure as Earth was green, you’ve gone and startled us!” he exclaimed. “What is it that a fine Sovvo like yourself is doing way out here?”

  “This is still within the Sovereignty’s realm,” Karim explained, noting the other man’s thick, almost Herdish accent. “Might I press your reasons for being in this system?”

  “Space is free as I see it, at least as far out this way,” said the man, before pausing and taking stock of Karim. “Besides… aren’t you an Admiral? I might posit the same question to you.”

  “We are here under the directive of Karess Margit herself, tracking criminals,” Karim said, being careful to punctuate the last word. “Tell me, which banner do you fly for?”

  “Criminals?” the man said, “I don’t know anything about that. This here is a merchant vessel, docked on a derelict station to take a load off. Here, I’ve got papers.”

  The man tapped a command on a terminal offscreen and seconds later Karim received a bulletin with a ship’s placard.

  Licence: 21?3x7-9000p

  Company: Mobius Charters and Mercantile.

  Vessel: The Yesteryear

  Captain: Bruin Backen

  Karim considered the placard carefully. The Yesteryear was a fast-mover picketship, long decommissioned by the Sovereignty Navy, seemingly converted into a rapid transport. It would seem that that might be the avenue with which the pirates had grown their complement of ships; through the misplaced scraps of his own fleet.

  He’d also not heard of Mobius Charters, but that was least surprising. There were many thousands of small contractors beholden to the Terran Merchant Navy. To him, the fact that the ship was registered under the Sovereignty yet still saw no Sovereignty oversight was far more intriguing.

  “Bruin Backen,” he said, “despite your registration as such, you are not a captain of the Sovereignty, and I see no register of a Naval officer to this posting, nor to your ship. It would seem despite your ship’s legal status, you are in violation by piloting it.”

  “Now you see why we’re riding dark amongst the stars…” Bruin admitted.

  “And your co-pilot, does he have a name?”

  “Oh, this is Karl,” Bruin said, gesturing to the other man.

  “Hi, Karl,” said Karim, to which the other man only nodded.

  “Right, well Karl doesn’t speak much anymore, on account of losing a tongue.”

  Karim furrowed his brow for a moment.

  “So,” Bruin said, “it seems our business partners might have sold us out. An’ now you know we’re here, criminals by technicality. What then– should we meet at your place or ours?”

  “It would be wise of you to power up your vessel and match our fleet’s trajectory,” Karim said.

  “‘Fraid not. Our ship has suffered a meteorite storm on our way out of rift,” Bruin argued, “was hoping for our trade-partners to help us out with some spare parts, gods know there’s not much on this waystation left to salvage besides some hundred year old tuna salad.”

  Karim considered that. If he took the man at his word, which for a man he had caught in a lie not a minute earlier seemed ill-advised, then that would draw the Fleet in closer to the waystation and to the jaws of any beast in waiting.

  The Kolkata’s cannons could make short work of this matter, even a picketship like the Yesteryear couldn’t outrun the weapon’s wake. Doing so, however, would rob him of the answers he sought.

  He could send a shuttle to pick them up, but he knew not the numbers of bodies they would be facing once onboard – assuming that it wasn’t just the two of them.

  From what he had seen of these pirates up until this point, he had to err on the side of abject caution.

  However, he considered, were these men truly pirates or had Dusk painted him walleyed?

  He decided it mattered little now that he knew they were criminals of something. He was duty-bound to constrain them. He could find out later just what their ties were to Aiden’s gang.

  “You stand at a disadvantage, Bruin. I cannot and will not endanger my crewman as you direct us toward a pit of vipers,” Karim said, “If your ship is damaged, as you say, then power it on and the Third Fleet’s technicians can diagnose alternative solutions from here.”

  “Well, you seem to have us over a barrel, Admiral,” admitted Bruin.

  “Chaasker,” Karim said, turning to the corporal, “Have a technician team notified that they’ll be receiving the Yesteryear’s incident report data.”

  “Not so quick there Admiral,” interrupted Bruin,” I didn’t say we would comply.”

  Karim raised an eyebrow. He could feel the voice of Admiral Kaur scratch at the back of his dāstar: “Mercy where appropriate, Karim.”

  “You realise the force I can bring to bear,” Karim threatened, “neither of you or I would like it to come to that.”

  “What do you say, Karl?” Bruin asked, turning to his co-pilot.

  Karl shook his head, his lips firmly remaining shut.

  “Look, your ships still haven’t shown on our sensors, so I can only take your word for the sort of arsenal you have lugged into this system. But, as much as I’d like not to be smashed into dust,” Bruin said, “I’m afraid I don’t have the authority to turn over the Yesteryear.”

  “And who does?” Karim asked.

  “I don’t think you and your fine fleet would be this far out in the black without already knowing the answer to that question. Besides, like I said our ship is damaged. It wouldn’t make the trip if we stumbled out into the void.”

  Karim considered what to do next. Without wanting to obliterate the Yesteryear along with the entire waystation, and without dispatching a subset of vessels from his fleet to investigate – a process that would prolong this engagement by days, it would seem he only had one choice.

  “You will be hearing from me,” Karim said to Bruin.

  Not wanting to discuss his plans of engagement with the enemy, he closed the bulletin.

  “So we move on them, then?” der Waals said, almost salivating over the wallscreen with the implications.

  “Chaasker,” Karim said, “you’re certain there are no energy levels coming from the waystation?”

  “None, Admiral. At least not as of eighteen hours ago,” answered Chaasker.

  “We can assume that they’ve powered up their ship’s systems. And maybe small parts of the waystation,” Karim said.

  Unless I’m missing something, Karim thought, the threat level seems minimal.

  “Chaasker, move us in,” Karim commanded. “Bring us within a light-hour of the waystation and update me every half-hour.”

  Chaasker nodded, and got to work tapping commands on her terminal. Der Waals, his bloodlust satisfied for now, closed the open wallscreen bulletin.

  With still nearly ninety-five hours of sublight, in-system travel to go, Karim figured now was as good a time as any to get some rest. He closed his terminal and was about to step out of the bridge before a perplexed Chaasker beckoned him back.

  “Sir, if I could speak with you?” Chaasker asked, being particular in her level of quiet.

  “What is it, Chaasker?” Karim said, stepping close to her desk.

  “Admiral, during your call with the Yesteryear I picked up a signal, broadcasting from one of the lower decks,” said Chaasker.

  “From the waystation? I thought you said the whole wreck was powered down,” asked Karim.

  “No sir,” said Chaasker, “the signal came from within the Kolkata. Deck twelve.”