• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“Missile fire detected!” Lieutenant Betters, at weapons, announced.

“Won’t do them any good,” Maliki murmured. “At this extreme range we can pick off their missiles with the Helix system.”

But the Archer missiles fired from the Bellerophon prematurely detonated—puffs of fire in the vacuum that made a dotted line in space . . . drawn straight from the Bellerophon to the Gorgon.

One distant explosion smeared across the black of space, however, and ever-so-slightly nudged the line representing the multiton ballistic projectile.

The blue line then closed on the silhouette of the Bellerophon . . . overlapped . . . and continued past the frigate.

“That’s not possible!” Lieutenant Betters said, standing.

“It is possible,” Cole said, “just not very likely.”

“Ballistic tracking confirms,” Watchmaker said. “We missed.”

Lieutenant Maliki turned to face the captain. “They anticipated our firing the MAC, sir? How?”

“A guess,” Cole replied staring at the view screen. “An educated guess, though, because we had the right angle on them. Still . . . incredibly lucky.” Cole frowned. “And a brilliant defensive use of the last of their missiles.”

“Not at all,” Watchmaker quipped. “Those detonations were on a vector traced from the Gorgon to the Bellerophon. A reasonable estimation of the MAC trajectory and a precise gauge of distance.” He snapped his watch shut.

“They can explain how they know so much about our MAC after we capture them,” Betters remarked.

“And how do you propose we do that?” Cole asked. “Status, Lieutenant Maliki?”

“Archer missiles spent, sir,” Maliki replied. “Except silo eight, per your standing order. No remaining MAC rounds. We have seven Pelicans on standby. The AAA Helix guns are spun up and hot.”

Cole stared at the Bellerophon as the frigate slowly turned away.

“Incoming message,” Watchmaker announced, “. . . from the ‘Bellicose.’ Text only.”

“To my station, Watchmaker.” Cole settled into the captain’s chair and turned the view screen so only he could see.

BELLICOSE: I HEARD YOU’VE ALREADY USED YOUR NEW PEASHOOTER

TWICE TODAY. SO THAT WAS YOUR THIRD AND LAST ROUND—

UNLESS YOU’RE GOING TO LOAD UP ONE OF YOUR PELICANS IN

THAT CANNON AND FIRE THAT AT ME?

Cole stabbed his finders into the keyboard, typing back:

GORGON: YOU’RE OUT OF SHOTS, TOO. YOUR MISSILE SILOS ARE

EMPTY.

BELLICOSE: I INVITE YOU TO TAKE A CLOSER LOOK.

Captain Cole considered a moment and then tapped in ambiguously:

GORGON: NOT LIKELY.

BELLICOSE: WELL PLAYED, PRESTON. WE’RE A GOOD MATCH. IF

YOU EVER RETIRE FROM THE UNSC, YOU MIGHT CONSIDER

WORKING FOR THE GOOD GUYS.

GORGON: PERHAPS YOU’D LIKE TO COME OVER HERE AND PERSUADE ME?

A full fifteen seconds passed without reply, then:

BELLICOSE: TEMPTING. BUT ANOTHER TIME, I THINK.

GORGON: I LOOK FORWARD TO IT.

Cole slammed his fist on the arm rest, and yet there was a slight smile on his face.

The Bellerophon continued to turn and her engines flared to life as she moved off.

“Sir, we’re letting them go?” Lieutenant Betters whispered. “That’s the third time that ship has escaped.”

“Three times,” Cole echoed. “Yes. But we’ll cross paths with the Bellerophon—the Bellicose—soon enough. Next time we’ll be ready for her.”

Personal letter from Captain Preston Cole to his brother,

Michael James Cole, September 4, 2501 (Military Calendar)

Michael,

We searched for the Bellicose in five systems, laid ambushes, but have yet to find the vessel. In the meantime, there have been more engagements, with two insurgent corvettes, and one merchant privateer that ONI no doubt will play up back home as “significant strategic victories.”

Not a word of that to anyone else, or these letters will end up so redacted they’ll look like a zebra has thrown up on them. I’m positive ONI is reading this and watching the family . . . and indulging me in this bit of personal communication.

I’m sure the only reason my letters get to you at all is that we’re both playing this their way.

This