Waylaid
© 2021 by Walter Reimer


Thumbnail art by  ahro


The A Quiet Life and the other members of the 41st Combat Support Element were en route to Novaya Navarro, loaded with supplies for the Colonial force resting at the planet. Meredith’s ship was carrying medical and food ration packs, while other ships in the convoy carried items ranging from deuterium and structural materials to sealed containers of antimatter.

That ship was at the rear of the formation.

The golden palomino mare was away from the Bridge talking with Hui and the cargo crew.

“Captain?”

Meredith turned away from Hui after nodding to the point the bear had made, and she addressed the nearest intercom. “Yes, Jax?”

“You need to get up here, quick,” the rat said. “Escorts are picking up incoming ships.”

The mare and the bear exchanged glances. “Confed?”

“No ID beacons.”

“Shit,” Hui growled. A wave of his paw, and one of the cargo handlers went aft to take her post monitoring the engines while Meredith took to her hooves.

“Hammer and the escorts are spreading out in a defensive pattern,” Jax said as Meredith entered the freighter’s command center and took her seat. The main display showed the convoy at the center, with its defenders moving to put themselves between the cargo ships and the five unknown contacts.

Meredith stared at the display. “Do you see the power curves on those ships?”

Jax and the two engineers nodded. “Whatever’s coming, it’s big.”

The senior engineer gulped audibly. “Really big – heavy cruiser, maybe.”

“Nothing any of us can handle, then.” Meredith sighed, feeling her ears swivel as all four of them watched the display.


***


Aboard Hammer, Bury Danyell gulped as her ship drew close enough to force the oncoming ship to outphase; when her own ship re-entered normal space, the pangolin felt her fists clench at the sheer size of the ship facing her.

The power curve had been wrong. It wasn’t a cruiser.

It was a Wargod-class battleship that had obviously suffered heavy damage. A small debris cloud was starting to form around it, and its four destroyer consorts also appeared to have come out badly in a fight.

She had a suspicion about what sort of fight.

“Orders,” Ma’am?” her weapons officer asked.

“Hm?”

“Should we open fire?”

“Do you honestly think we have a chance against something like that?” The corgi’s ears went down. “Comm, open a channel and challenge them.”

The macaque’s fingers spidered over her console, and she listened to the response. “Response on main screen, Ma’am?”

The pangolin nodded, and sat up as the screen displayed a tiger wearing an admiral’s stars. “This is Commodore Bury, Colonial Navy. Who are you?”

The tiger raised a paw. “Don’t shoot.”

“Huh?”

That earned her a wry grin from the admiral. “Admiral Gromov Feranq, Confederate Navy, Commodore. We’ve taken damage, and we’re running Coreward.” His whiskers dipped. “You’re convoying cargo ships, according to our sensors. I’ll make you a deal.”

“Oh?” she asked, her eyes narrowing as she guessed what the ‘deal’ was about to entail.

“Neither of us shoots,” Gromov replied, “and we take what we need for making repairs underway. We go our separate ways.” He dipped one ear. “Deal?”

Bury and Gromov gazed at each other. “I’m pretty sure what’ll happen if I say no.”

Without blinking, the tiger said, “You’d be right.”

“Your word on this? You take what you need, and we leave?”

“Yes.”

“No taking on any personnel from any ships,” the pangolin femme said, and the tiger blinked.

“Done,” he finally said.

Bury gave the tiger another suspicious glare. “Comm,” she said, “send to all ships in the convoy: Outphase and prepare to be boarded.” She glared at Gromov again.

“We’re being robbed.”


***


“Pirates,” Christina Brown growled as the A Quiet Life’s starboard airlock door opened and three Confedders, an ensign and two ratings, stepped aboard. The Hereford cow slammed a meaty fist into her right palm, and one of the ratings gulped. “I hope you three aren’t going to start something,” and here she chuckled, “because I’ll enjoy finishing it.”

The ensign, a slim roe doe, raised her paws. “No trouble, I swear.”

“Enough, Christina,” and the cow stepped aside as Meredith stepped forward. She was deliberately wearing her Transcosm uniform, with her captain’s stripes conspicuously displayed. The mare held out a paw. “Let’s see what you need.”

One rating, a donkey, glanced over his shoulder at the doe, who nodded. The donkey then pulled out a padd and turned it around so the mare and the cow could see. Christina snorted at the list and reached out to tap the intercom. “Hui.”

“Yes, my sweet?”

The cow snorted while Meredith tried to keep a straight face. “Open Cargo Three, and . . . Two, aft.” She shut off the intercom and glared at the shorter, slimmer ensign. “What you’re looking for’s there.”

“Th-th –“

“Get what you need, and go away,” Meredith interjected.

“O-Okay,” and the cervine ushered the two ratings back into the airlock.

The donkey paused at the doorway and looked back at Meredith. “You’re her, aren’t you?” he asked the mare.

“Me to know, you to guess,” Meredith said, and slapped her paw over the airlock controls, closing and sealing the door.


***


“Last pods are clear,” Hui reported over an hour later. “Closing the cargo doors now.”

“Very well. Thanks, Hui,” Meredith said as she sat in her seat on the Bridge, sipping coffee laced liberally with Markellan whisky and glowering at the main screen as her ship and the rest of the convoy, now all somewhat lighter, inphased and resumed their course.