Gleeson and Sons Armed Cargo Hauler Midas' Blessing

Star System BC2OA156

Cromwell Way Trade Route

The Midas lumbered across the great black void, bulky cargo pods fully laden with goods destined for Nova Londinium, the Capital of the British and Commonwealth Royal Empire. Her great fusion engines burned blue, propelling her mass in a constant acceleration, giving the crew within her thin hull a semblance of Earth gravity. The trade ship's single light rail gun sat impotently on her dorsal surface, unmanned and unloaded; reports of pirate activity were always overstated, and the mere presence of a turret was enough to scare off any would-be attacker, whether it was ready to be brought to bear or not. The Midas' Blessing had been the centre piece of a large flotilla of cargo ships, but each stop along its journey had seen the convoy dwindle as each ship reached its destination, so now she sailed alone, a solitary light in the dark.

Captain Ben Hodson sat uncomfortably in his chair on the cramped bridge, idly flipping through a magazine he had read cover-to-cover countless times. He was bored. Infuriatingly bored. He longed to be down in the rec room, playing cards or pool with the crew, but he had to be up on the bridge. They were nearing the midway point of their journey across the empty star system, soon they would flip and burn to decelerate towards the far worm hole gate. But for now there was nothing to but sit and wait. Sit and listen to the joyous sounds of the crew drifting up from below.

"RCS thrusters green across the board, Captain," the sound of Chief Engineer Naomi Briggs' voice cut across Hodson's boredom-induced stupor, dragging him slowly back to conscious thought. She was a good engineer, a bit wet behind the ears still, and prone to jumping at radar shadows, but she'd learn. Hell, this was her first long haul. Hodson's first was so long ago that he barely remembered it, but he didn't doubt he would have been much the same. At least the rest of the crew was good and experienced.

Hodson sucked in a long breath of recycled air before responding, "Very good. Gerry, helm all ready to go?" he turned his attention towards the Able Seaman sat at the helmsman's station off to his left.

"Helm green," Gerry replied, letting his hands drop casually from the controls and spinning his chair around to face the Captain, "Think we'll get a decent amount in port this time? I've got cred drives burning a hole in my pocket,"

Hodson resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Warren was always trying to spend his pay cheque as soon as it hit his account. And on not an unsubstantial number of occasions, before it hit his account. The Captain gave Gerry a weary smile, "Depends on the company,"

Gerry opened his mouth to reply, but before he could form any words, Naomi's timid voice squeaked across the small bridge, "Er, Captain,"

Hodson turned to look at her, ready to give her yet another lecture on speaking up, but the words fell away when he saw her expression of pale anxiety. He sighed, a little louder than he'd intended. "What is it, Briggs?"

"Got something on radar, coming up behind us,"

"It's probably nothing, just a glitch," Hodson said. What he had really wanted to do was admonish her yet again for jumping at every tiny glitch and shadow that popped up on the radar screen, but he thought better of it. No point putting her down any more. She was a good engineer despite her inexperience, and would be a truly valuable member of the crew if she could just get over her jitters.

She spoke up again, this time a little louder, her voice taking on an almost insistent quality, "It's got a heat signature, sir, I-I think it's another ship,"

"Okay, let's take a look," Hodson said, deciding to humour her. He gripped the arm that attached his data screen to his chair and dragged it into view before casually flipping to the sensor readout. Well she was right about it being another ship, thermal readings and radar put it to be an average sized vessel, thrusters on full implying thrust gravity. "Looks to be another freighter, nothing to worry about,"

"But sir, it came out of nowhere, are you sure it's not pirates or something?" Briggs continued, her hand edging ever nearer to the alarm.

"Briggs," Hodson turned back to her, his voice stern now, "I've done this route hundreds of time it's definitely not-"

A sudden explosion shook the Midas' hull, throwing Hodson about in his chair, straps pressing against his chest. The horrific sound of metal straining and shearing reverberated through the ship, and Hodson could hear the sickening dull thump of bodies colliding with steel from below.

"Briggs, status report!" he shouted, hands fumbling to tighten down the buckles that held him in place, "Briggs!" he looked up, only to be met with the engineer's ashen face, her expression frozen in a mask of terror. A bead of bright crimson blood dripped down her cheek as her head lolled to one side. "Fuck!" Hodson shouted, unable to look away, just moments ago he had been considering her future with the company, had been planning ways to bring her into her own, give her more confidence. And now she was gone.

"Fuck," he breathed quietly, wrenching his eyes from her lifeless body, "Warren evasive manoeuvres, hard burn, get us away from them," he ordered slamming his fist down on the alarm.

"Hands to quarters, hands to quarters, action stations," Lieutenant-Commander Emily Thorpe's voice rang out through every deck of the HMS Peregrine. The frigate, that had long laid in wait in the orbit of the gas giant, sprung to life, crew dashed about the ship, rushing to their stations and tugging helmets on to seal against their skin-tight pressure suits. Hundreds of hands brushed against the small oak nameplates set into walls around the ship, each crew member running their fingers along the wooden surface for luck and for courage. The great aft thrusters blazed into life as the radiator panels retracted, folding back beneath the protective armour of the hull.

The ops room too was a hive of activity, the bridge crew threw off their jackets and took up positions at consoles as numerous ratings filed in through the bulkhead doors. Emily hurriedly discarded her deep navy jacket, bundling it into the stowage bag attached to her chair, and threw on her armoured action vest, before rechecking the seal of her helmet. She knew it was secure, but she always triple-checked, more than just precaution, it had become a ritual to her.

Emily buckled herself securely into her seat, the straps pressing across her chest. There was a time when she found the tightness of the straps uncomfortable, but now they filled her with a sense of security and safety. Safely strapped into her seat, Emily went through the business of attaching the tubes and cables to herself; first was the long grey hose, locking into place with a hiss of pressurised air as she connected to the ship's internal air supply; next, the data cable from her helmet, she inserted it into the chair where it locked into place with a satisfying magnetic clunk, her heads-up-display lighting up with information; finally, the coolant tube, as soon as it locked into the port in her action vest, the ice-cold liquid began flowing, piercing through her flesh and chilling her to the bone. She shivered.

"Lidar scans coming through," the Signalling Officer Lieutenant Roger Morton called out over comms. A heartbeat later the tactical display screen in front of Emily lit up, the pirate vessel and its quarry, the smaller cargo hauler. The hauler's transponder identified it as the Midas' Blessing, the text floating just next to the ship on her display; the pirate ship was clearly sailing without a transponder, as no name appeared next to it. To the untrained eye, the larger of the two ships would look for all the world to be just another hauler, but Thorpe could see the tell-tale signs: aftermarket RCS thrusters, boarding harpoon launchers, the illegal long 6inch coil gun. The damage to the Midas' Blessing was also painfully apparent from the scan, its dorsal rail gun turret was in pieces, a great hole torn clean through its rear armour and debris trailing it as the ship accelerated forward, trying to flee.

"We have our prey then, Miss Thorpe?" Captain Williams' voice crackled over her helmet's speakers, pulling her focus away from the screen. It was time-worn and gravelly, much like his appearance, but nevertheless full of cheer. Evidently he was as eager as she was to catch the pirates that had been plaguing the trade route and make for home.

She turned to look at him, grinning through her visor, "Aye, sir, got 'em right where we want them," her eyes darted to her heads up display for a moment, "all stations report ready, sir,"

"Excellent, bring us to full readiness," 

"Aye aye," Emily said, thumbing on the ship-wide comms, "all hands, all hands, prepare for atmospheric purge and grav-plate deactivation," she gave the crew a few moments to prepare themselves, counting her heartbeats in her head, before flipping to the direct comm link to Lieutenant Chaudhary, the Engineering Officer to relay the order. A second later she felt her arms begin to drift upwards as the artificial gravity let go its grip on her body.

"Helm, lay in intercept course, prepare for all ahead hull, hard burn," Captain Williams sent his order over the ops room comms, so that every crew member could hear and prepare for the g-forces.

"Course plotted, cap'n, ready for hard burn," the Chief Helm announced.

"Let's get after them," Emily could hear the grin in Williams' voice.

A sharp klaxon sounded throughout the ship, followed an instant later by an automated voice, "G-force, g-force, x positive," The entire crew of the ops room braced themselves, each sucking in a deep lungful of breath, preparing for the heavy acceleration, as did each person throughout the ship, sat at their ready stations.

The aft thrusters flared, spewing charged particles as the warship shook and creaked under the sudden burst of acceleration. Emily felt herself being forced back into her chair, a great weight on her chest attempting to force the air from her lungs as her arms were pinned back against the rests. She tensed her muscles and hissed out a long exhale before quickly gulping down another breath. The air being piped into her helmet was tinged with a chemical taste from the filtration system, but what was once a acrid and almost disgusting taste had now become welcomed companion. That taste meant action. It meant excitement. And it meant prize money.

The aggressive angular hull of the cruiser frigate cut through the void, speeding towards it's quarry, gaining on the pirate vessel with every passing moment, her strong engines and well-trained crew allowing the Peregrine to accelerate harder and longer than the smaller craft. Each second that ticked by brought them closer to the fight, closer to victory. The blue glow of the engines began to die down slightly as the helmsmen decreased their acceleration, still more than enough to catch up to the pirates in short order, but not so much as to exhaust the crew before the battle.

 "Mr Mazibuko, run out the sixers and point defence, prepare firing solutions, sixers target their main gun, PDCs target thrusters," Williams ordered, his voice strained slightly from the g-forces, but still brimming with anticipation.

"Running out and targeting, aye," Sipho's response was quick and professional.

The hull shuddered slightly as the Peregrine bared her talons, blast doors on the port and starboard gun decks slid open, allowing the turrets to emerge from within the armour. Each turret housed a single six-inch helical rail gun, which sprang forward into their firing positions, ready to spit shells into the pirate vessel. Likewise smaller blast doors opened along the length of the warship, unveiling the point defence cannons. The Peregrine was ready to strike.

"Guns run out, Captain, targeting solution laid in, twenty minutes to effective range,"

Captain Williams had set them up perfectly. Right along the trajectory of the the trade route as it passed through the system, and well hidden against the gas giant to ambush the would-be hunters.

"Very good," the Captain responded via the local comms, before switching to the ship-wide pipes, "Crew, it has been a long hunt, but our prey is within our grasp, do your duty as I know you will and we will have another prize under our belts, one last prize before we head for home. Have courage in your skills and in your comrades, you will see us through the day,"

The ops room cheered in unison over the local comm, spirits buoyed by the Captains words. Likewise, the local comms of each station throughout the ship erupted into cheers as the crew set about their final preparations for battle. Gunnery crews rechecked their guns and ammunition, damage control teams made sure each tool and hull patch was close at hand, engineering stations fine-tuned the outputs of the fusion reactors and thrusters. They were ready. Ready for battle. Ready for whatever the enemy would throw at them. Ready to fight.

The frigate drew ever closer with each passing breath, but the pirates made no attempt to fight or flee. In fact, they gave no indication that they had even noticed the Peregrine as it drew ever closer to them. They just doggedly chased they prey, unperturbed and oblivious.

"One minute until helix range, Captain. PDCs are locked on and ready, munitions set to impact fuse," Lieutenant Mazibuko called out.

"Very good, Guns, gun crews may fire as they bear,"

Emily continued to watch the lidar scan of the enemy ship in front of her, but kept one eye on the tactical display showing the transponder signals for the three ships. A sudden warning flashed up on her heads up display: MULTIPLE NEW TARGETS.

"Torpedo launch! Re-task PDCs!" Emily shouted over the comm as eight new radar blips appeared on her screen, accelerating fast towards them. 

"Re-tasking!" Sipho called out urgently, his fingers a blur as they flitted across his controls, pulling the autocannons off their prey and transferring them back to automatic control.

Motors whirred as the forty millimetre cannons moved rapidly to track their new targets, the central control system tasking each one with a different target. Rounds lanced through the void as the guns fired, spewing steel at the oncoming threats as metre-long torpedoes arced towards the Peregrine thrusters burning hard and RCS firing off intermittently as they attempted to avoid the incoming rounds.

"Scratch one, two," one of the Warfare Specialists called out. The timed fuses of the cannon rounds detonated in front of their targets, creating a cone of shrapnel and chaff to destroy and distract the torpedoes. Three more hit their mark, torpedo warheads exploding impotently in the vacuum. "Seven down," the rating announced as two more were taken out by the frigate's point defence