The Hop

“The Black Ship is heading towards the edge of the system. Hopefully that will buy time for our allies to show up.” Commander Redford said. “What would you like me to do, sir?” asked Wyatt. Redford paused for a moment. “Well, your commander is likely a traitor, so you definitely can’t go back. Once our allies show up, we’ll probably seize the station. You can resume your duties in service of the legitimate government then.”



Great, now I’m fighting for the losing side. Wyatt was far from a loyal subject. He had barely paid attention when news of the coup had first arrived because Cayston had cut off the news soon after Wyatt and the other commoner crew had heard it, and Wyatt hadn't cared enough to summon the effort to put up a fuss. Like most commoners, he held no loyalty for the nobility that kept him as a second class citizen, save for a vague, empty loyalty to the monarch that every child had instilled in them in the Principality, to varying degrees of success . Either the coup would succeed and he and his ilk would have a new uncaring ruler, or it would fail and he and his ilk would retain the current, negligibly different ruler. The only reason he was in the military was for the half-decent paycheck and free housing (and surprisingly good dental benefits) nothing more. A commoner would just end up a pawn in the nobility’s game if he showed loyalty, just like Wyatt was now. They probably wouldn’t even thank him.



Eight blips appeared on Wyatt’s sensors suddenly. Coming from the station. Damn. Cayston must be launching the fighters. Commander Redford had a concerned look on his face.

“That help of yours better show up soon , Commander, because Cayston’s almost certainly just launched his fighters.” said Wyatt. “Our help is eight minutes out. Our warp is down, so we’ll just have to move it at full speed away from them. Hopefully we’ll buy enough time for our help to arrive. Dock with us, and then we’ll leave.” said Redford.

Wyatt was somewhat surprised at that. He’d half expected to be left to Cayston’s mercy. Maybe they do have a shred of gratitude in them. Wyatt flipped his ship to mirror the Royal Favor and attached it to the docking clamp on the underside of the ship. He went through the airlock in the floor of his ship and braced himself for artificial gravity as he emerged onto the lower deck of the Royal Favor. A crewman watched him, and when he was clear of the airlock, he snapped it closed and shouted “He’s clear, jettison it!” Wyatt watched his ship float away faster and faster as the Yacht’s engines jetted up to full speed. The yacht was a light and fast ship, and it was soon at its top sublight speed, burning hard for the edge of the system.

The crewman gave him a brief salute, and said “Sir, if you’ll follow me to the bridge.” “Lead on, crewman.” Wyatt said, returning the salute. The crewman took off at a brisk pace, presumably towards the bridge. Wyatt followed after him. The ship was definitely not designed with military efficiency in mind. It was painted almost entirely white, inside and out,. The corridors were ornately decorated and spacious, instead of spartan and utilitarian like a military ship. Art pieces and paintings hung on the wall or were on pedestals. A few of them lay broken on the floor, likely from the earlier scuffle.

The ship had curved, elegant look to it, aerodynamic. If he remembered what he’d learned about it in the academy, the Yacht was capable of atmospheric flight, like most ships of its smaller size. It didn’t take very long to get to the bridge, do to that small size. The bridge was even more unmilitary than a civilian vessel. The large viewing window in place of a viewscreen certainly gave one a more "authentic" and enjoyable view, but it also created a structural weakness to be exploited. Wyatt wondered where the Prince’s daughter was, but Commander Redford spoke before he could think more on it.

“Ah, Warrant Officer. Our sensors have picked up multiple heat signatures leaving the station. Cayston’s fighters are heading towards us. We’re charging PD cannons. I asked you here because I want to hear about this Cayston fellow. How will he command these fighters?”

Wyatt wanted to say what he really thought of Cayston, but that wouldn’t help them. Honesty would. “Commander Cayston is arrogant and self centered, but he’s a competent enough officer. I think he has more of a sense of duty and professional pride than first impressions would give.” Cayston had been an insufferable asshat, but he did his job, and quite well at that, albeit while complaining loudly. “Sir, I’ve never been in a combat situation with Lieutenant commander Cayston, so I can’t offer more than speculation, but, unfortunately for us, I think he’s more than just hot air.” The Commander frowned in concentration upon hearing that. “What about his men? How many do you think he’ll be willing to sacrifice for us? How many do we have to put down before he backs off?” Wyatt thought for a moment, “...He’s hardly sentimental, but he’s no sociopath. I think he’ll back off if there’s no chance of winning.”

If only for practical reasons. Fighter pilots are nobles, and noble families don’t take kindly to a commander being too cavalier with the lives of their children, and they have the resources for their opinions to actually matter. “Do you think you can hold them off, sir?” The Commander put on a strained smile, “We’re going to try.”

---

The squadron of fighters was slowly but steadily gaining on the Royal Favor. The yacht was a fast little ship, and even the quick and nimble fighters were being given a run for their money. The ship’s sensor AI and navigational AI had put their figurative heads together and determined that the fighters would be in weapons range inside fifteen minutes, if all factors remained the same. Redford’s face didn’t show a thing, but Wyatt could hazard a guess from the ever-so-slightly hurried way the ship commander was doing things that Redford’s help was a lot more than fifteen minutes away. Even with that truth looming over him, the commander didn’t appear ready to give up.



“Chief, I want options.” the commander said to the gruff voice over the ship-board comm.



“And I’d love to give you some, sir, but I’m fresh out.”, Chief Engineer Fisher replied.



“Not good enough Chief.”



“I could overcharge the engines, but then they’d eventually go down, and when we inevitably have to turn around to face those birdies, we’d be running on emergency power, and with next to no maneuvering capabilities. We both agree that facing them is inevitable, right sir?”



“Not yet it isn’t. Warp?”



The Chief snorted. “I haven’t acquired the ability to work miracles in the past twenty minutes, sir. We’ve got enough plasma in the warp ring to fill a shot glass, if that. The reactor’s barely got enough to run itself after we took that damage, so it can’t spare any for the ring. She can run her engines for weeks on end, but, unless you know someone who pisses reactionable plasma, her wings are clipped.”



“Not even enough plasma for a hop?”



“Sir, if you have me attempt that with the plasma we’ve got, the more appropriate term would be ‘trip’.”



“What about taking the plasma from the reactor and running on the crystals?



“Sir even if that were a good idea-which it isn’t-our Reddenbachers were fried with the reactor. Our crystals are shot, sir.”



“Then we’ll use the synthetic crystal.”



“Sir, with respect, that’s insane. It’d be like trying to run a steam engine with a campfire!”



“Can you get it to work?”



“If I could-and I’m not saying I can-it wouldn’t last for more than a second and a half. We wouldn’t get past .9c. Or, more likely, it won’t work, and we’ll drain our synth crystals and-since the synth crystals provide most of the emergency power-we’d be lucky if we had enough enough power to signal our surrender. We’d still be dead in the water even if it did work-which it won’t-because the synth crystals would be drained after the hop.” The Chief was starting to raise his voice.



Redford’s response was calm “You’re forgetting something, Chief. You can’t ‘fry’ a Bradsford crystal, not completely. They're too resilient for that.”



“Whatever charge it can still hold wouldn’t be enough to sustain a reaction!”



“We won’t be sustaining a reaction, Chief. We’d be charging them with the warp ring.”



“...Well I’ll be damned. That might actually work. Should I take that as an order to transfer the plasma?”



“You should.”



Wyatt, who had been standing there awkwardly for the entire exchange, finally had a reason to speak up. “What exactly is you plan, sir?” Redford turned toward him and said, “Our synthetic crystals might be able to sustain a brief warp field, but they’ll be drained by it. We’re going to fill our busted natural crystals with whatever juice they can hold using the excess energy from the warp effect. Ideally, that means will have enough power to transfer the plasma back from the reactor and into the warp ring.”



“What’s our course when we engage the warp field, sir?” Wyatt said.



“Straight for the gate. We’d still be ways out from it, but we’d be a hell of a lot closer than we are now, and we’d buy more time until those fighters show up.” Wyatt nodded. He thought this idea was the best chance they had. He had one problem, though, “What would you have me do during all this, sir?”



“You’ll be flying the ship. Our pilot’s in the infirmary. I’ve been flying it myself, but it’s been fifteen years since I was in a cockpit, and it’s been all I could do to keep her flying straight. You are qualified, right?” Redford said.

Wyatt couldn’t have been more surprised had the Prince himself come over the comm and announced his support for the republican movement. It took all he had to maintain his composure and squeak out a “Yes sir, I’m qualified.” Wyatt was to astonished to say something sarcastic along the lines of Well they did give me these wings, so someone must think I’m qualified. Even in his wildest dreams, he hadn’t imagined himself in the chair of the Royal Yacht.

He went and sat down in the ornately decorated seat-he was pretty sure this was real leather-and attempted to familiarize himself with the controls. He did a quick systems and instruments check, and then said “Ready sir. Just tell me when.”

Redford keyed up the comm “Are we ready to hop yet, Chief?”



“Just about, sir...there we go, transfer complete.” The lights turned off, and the dim red glow of the emergency power lights came on. The Chief’s voice rang out, “Sir, every ship system besides the warp ring is using up our emergency batteries. Nonessential systems are off. It’s now or never."

Redford activated the ship intercom, “All hands, prepare for emergency maneuvers.” He nodded to Wyatt, and strapped himself into the Ship Commander’s chair.



The ship had been drifting for some time, with its engines cut from the plasma transfer. Wyatt turned the ship completely around with the maneuvering thrusters, and punched in the coordinates of the gate. The ship’s navigation AI made some slight corrections in the orientation of the ship, and gave Wyatt the green light. “Coordinates set, sir.” Wyatt called out. “Hit the gas, Warrant Officer.” Redford responded. Wyatt signaled to engineering to prepare to initiate a warp field. He got the green light from engineering almost immediately. One final systems check, and Wyatt activated the field. A familiar fuzzy feeling came over him as spacetime bent to the will of the warp drive, and then, before he had time to blink, it was over, and the ship’s systems were running on fumes. Redford called over the comm, “Chief, how’s that plasma transfer?”

There was no response, other then a faint vibration coming from the ship’s bulkheads. Then, the normal lights came on. The Chief’s voice rang out from Redford’s comm, “Transfer complete. Reactor’s spun up. It worked.” There were no cheer’s on the bridge, just an audible sigh of relief. Wyatt’s tracker showed that the hypergate was twenty minutes away. Not nearly enough time for the fighter’s to catch them. Redford called out a command,“Set course for the hypergate, full engine power. We’ll set the destination when we get there. Warrant Officer, would you-” before he could finish, he was interrupted by the whoosh of the bridge doors opening, and a soft, feminine voice that sounded more than a little pissed off. “Commander Redford, what in Sol is going on, and why have you not answered my calls?”

Wyatt turned to see Redford looking uncharacteristically downcast and sheepish, and then he looked into a pair of silver eyes.

---

Lieutenant Commander Cayston stared at his screen. He was angry, that much was true,but his anger was completely overshadowed by his fear. It’s your own fault, dumbass. Even a first year cadet could tell you that you should have kept a fighter or two in reserve. House Cayston would have his ass, and then they’d hand him over to Draymor, who would really have his ass. Worse, now he had actively betrayed the Prince, which meant that he was committed to one side. If Draymor won, he could pretty much kiss his career goodbye, for his incompetence. If the Prince won, he could kiss his head goodbye. Either way, it was time to make himself scarce. He had no marketable skills other than being a fleet officer, so he had no idea how he’d get on. I guess I’ll take everything that isn’t nailed down on this station, and then head out in my personal shuttle. Then he remembered an important detail. “Lieutenant, I’m going to abandon any attempt at subtlety and just say it: I’m heading away from here ASAP. You’re welcome to take the shuttle with me.”

Cayston had been put here as a punishment, so he was way over ranked for this post. The lieutenant was his direct accomplice in treason, so the Prince wouldn’t be his biggest fan, and he was the closest thing Cayston had to an executive officer, so Draymor would blame him for failure in Cayston’s stead.

The lieutenant didn’t miss a beat, “I’ve already ordered the shuttle to be prepared for takeoff.” Cayston doubted they’d stick together once they were out of Principality space, but for now the lieutenant was all he had. “Good man.”