Because it was faster to travel through the ship than around it, Cheeirilaq and I did not exit from an airlock close to Ops. Neither one of us wanted to spend any more time outside the hull than necessary, given the possibility of a shooting fight. I was trying to tamp myself down as much as possible, but we had to assume she knew we were coming. And she was armed.
We exited the vessel much closer to Farweather’s presumed position, and from two different locks so we could try to flank her.
From the outside, without the reassuring solidity of the observation ports, both the Baomind and the pirate armada seemed more threatening. The Prize was the ice core of a strange technological comet. It streaked on a long arc that would curve it slowly and gently into the well of the enormous, dying giant burning iron at the center of this system. Nearly all of its light was still being eaten up by the flock of glittering dark motes that now surrounded us as well. We were at the heart of a trailing teardrop of Baomind particles, a long arc of them whipping out behind us all the way back to the numberless and incomputable motes that still enshelled the star. I could see now that they were not all the same size, though I had only been able to pick out the largest ones from the previous distance, even under magnification.
Nearly all the star’s light was eaten up. But more escaped as its sphere attenuated, reaching out into our enveloping pseudopod.
And beyond the swarm, along the trailing curve of the teardrop, the Freeport and Koregoi ships gave chase and dodged the tail. They were big enough, close enough to see unaided now, swirling and sliding around each other as they jockeyed for position. The pirate ships, unmagnified, could have been drone motes against the velvet of space. But the two Jothari factory ships were as big as moons, which is to say I could have covered them with my thumbnail at arm’s length.
I didn’t stand and watch for long. There’s only so much ox in a suit pack, and we were burning time even faster than I was burning atmosphere.
Singer kept Cheeirilaq patched into my com, so I knew where it was and vice-versa, and that was helpful. We quartered, moving around the hull, spiraling in on Farweather’s presumed location while keeping her—we hoped—flanked and ignorant of our whereabouts. Singer was feeding us what he got from his drone eyes, but to be honest I was pretty disappointed with my work. The maneuverability and stealth were all right, but the resolution on their images was terrible.
Too terrible to be excused by me being in a hurry, or using repurposed tech. Some things you just can’t really get away with. But at least Singer wasn’t complaining.
Perfectionist, Singer snorted in my ear.
“Is there an echo out here?” I looked around in mock bewilderment. Then I dropped to my belly, because I was starting to crest the horizon on the curve of the hull from Farweather’s position. I didn’t want to be silhouetted. Being silhouetted results in getting shot.
The hull vibrated against my body. I tried not to think of enemy ships gaining on us, and just crawled forward. One of the smooth, sculptural, curved projections of the Prize’s hull rose up before me like a sand dune. I sheltered in its concavity. It was high enough that I could crouch there.
I’m in position, I said.
I too, Friend Haimey.
Under these conditions of flickering dim light that shaded into the infrared, the drones just weren’t giving me a useful feed. I gritted my teeth and took a deep breath and poked my eyes over the rise.
I yanked my head back down again quickly. Farweather was definitely there. She was sitting on the hull outside a little geodesic barnacle shelter, propped up on her elbows, watching the light show as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
It must be very restful to be like Farweather, I imagined. Pity her behaviors were so terrible for everyone around her.
I could just run up and grab her, Cheeirilaq said.
She’s got a gun.
So you get her attention and then I’ll run up and grab her from behind.
While she’s shooting me.
You have a gun, too. Shoot at her back. It paused briefly. Just don’t shoot me while I’m running up behind her.
Cheeirilaq, this is a terrible—
Two clusters of Baomind mirrors, one aft and one forward of the Prize, disintegrated into chaff and glittering shards. They coruscated outward with the force of an explosion, streaking clusters of firework chrysanthemum petals whose trajectory missed us by no more than a hundred meters, passing between our hull and our white coils.
We swept through the forward debris field almost immediately. I huddled behind my hull projection and covered my visor with my suited arms. The shrapnel exploded off the hull to every side, disintegrating into glitter.
Beam weapon.
Well, wasn’t that just peachy.
Suddenly I was standing on stars.
The Prize was still there. I was still magnetized to its hull. But the colors and patterning vanished abruptly, replaced by endless depth of field and moving swirls of light.
I boggled as I realized that the entire curvaceous surface of the Prize had just… gone reflective. I was standing on an enormous curved mirror, and I was reflected and multiplied in it myself, in a twisting novelty-show fashion.
The Prize might not be armed, but it had beam weapon countermeasures.
Stand by for evasive maneuvers! Singer yelled.
“Singer, we’re on the hull!”
The whole ship yanked sideways under my afthands. Somehow, I stayed attached. My magnets held, and something else was holding me. “Singer?”
I’m getting the hang of the gravity, he said. We’re gaining on the pirates again too. No time to explain, just go get Farweather and make her stop playing space anchor!
“Well, if you’ve got a handle on the gravity, pin her down!”
I can do that, can’t I?
There was a vibration through the hull.
I poked my head up again. Farweather lay supine, struggling against the weight of her own body. She didn’t seem to be holed, more was the pity. Maybe she’d bent space-time to deflect the stuff.
As I watched, she rolled on her side, then onto her belly. With a tremendous effort, she pushed herself to her hands and knees.
Waste, she was impressive.
Get her, Cheeirilaq said. So it was alive also. The Goodlaw’s senso informed mine of its change in position as it began to move.
I lunged up the rise in the hull—and it suddenly was up, because Singer was using gravitational forces to hang on to me. My boots rang vibrations through the vessel as if it were an enormous, silent bell. As I crested the rise, I saw Farweather turn her head to see me. I dragged the projectile weapon I’d confiscated from her out of its holster—confiscated sounds so much better than stole—and fumbled with my gloved hands for the actuator.
Cheeirilaq appeared behind her, the mirrored hull under its feet reflecting its forest of legs like a pattern generator run wild. It was seconds away from Farweather as the Prize twisted and spiraled beneath us, jinking in erratic helixes and randomly generated drunken lurches.
They’ll try a white torpedo next, Connla said through senso. A white torpedo is always faster than we are.
I’m trying to work out a gravity field weapon, Singer said. I can probably do it. I’m not sure I can do it in time. I’ve asked the Baomind…