“New contact, zero point zero! Evasive!” The atavistic reflex to duck seized the entire bridge crew as an unidentified corsair warship filled the forward observation bays of DSS Dunkerque momentarily and then vanished, leaving only a brief memory of the enormous stylized golden condor painted on its ventral hull.

DeMay’s pilot engaged the vessel’s quiescent drive field and threw the engines over into a hasty counterthrust. The resulting backpressure sheared against the strike cruiser’s stabilizing magnetic field and caused the hull to shudder.

Powerful electromagnetic waves pulsed in all directions from the ship’s battle-caliber deflector systems, and bolts of high energy plasma spidered into space, scorching the surfaces of at least a half-dozen passing asteroids. The navigational equivalent of a screeching halt ended with Dunkerque stopped just inside the leading edge of the debris field less than twelve miles from a class three ferrite monster asteroid tumbling towards them at an alarming rate.

A moment later, something hit the hull hard enough to make the entire ship ring. The intraship beeped.

“What the hell was that?” The voice of Commander DeMay sounded modulated. Static began to pop and crackle over the channel.

“Give me outer hull views!” Lieutenant Austin snapped. “Starboard edge! All cameras on screen!” The acting tactical officer complied, routing the views from all of Dunkerque’s starboard hull cameras to the MC and then displaying them in a grid that filled the bridge main viewer.

“That’s it! Switch to camera sixteen!”

The view of Dunkerque’s starboard quarter filled the screen. The ship’s hull filled the lower corner. Along the opposite edge of the view the sharp hard point of an unidentified vessel could be seen stopped in space only a few yards from the camera. On the surface of the strike cruiser’s hull, an old-style combat drone worked furiously, cutting an elevator-door-sized hole in the thick metal composite.

The intrusion detection alarm sounded for just over two seconds, then was abruptly silenced. A moment later, the bridge lights went out.

“Emergency lights!”

“Bridge, report!”

“Commander, we have an unidentified contact near our starboard quarter.” Austin tried to bring up the life support control console, but everything on the bridge was dark. “We have lost all power on the bridge. Pilot does not have positive control at the conn. I believe we have been boarded!”

In the huge ship’s weapons bay, the acting Commander stared at the two technicians with whom he had only minutes ago celebrated the defeat of the pursuing destroyers. The momentary hesitation gave way to the sudden and urgent realization he was likely outnumbered and about to lose control of the only hope Argent’s battle group had to survive another day. He bolted for the access corridor.

As the Commander ran down metal passage after metal passage, Lieutenant Austin’s voice reverberated throughout the ship, repeatedly requesting DeMay’s response to the intraship signal. By now the intruder protocols should have activated and they hadn’t. DeMay’s only hope was to reach the alpha junction and cut off all the control mechanisms below “B’ deck. The problem was even if he managed to restore some level of control, the bridge circuits had either been shorted, cut or burned to ash by now. It would take hours to get Dunkerque underway again, and even that would likely require a full damage control party, which would outnumber the standing crew two to one.

In their rush, the Argent and Dunkerque command details had overlooked one very important thing out of necessity. It wasn’t because they were careless. It was because it would have simply taken too long to configure. Toby DeMay didn’t have a command computer. Had there been time to replace the components and spin up a new system, defeating a boarding party would have been child’s play. Now instead, it was a life-or-death race to “G’ deck and the all-important alpha junction. But first he had to kill the control circuits.

His footsteps echoed and vacuum locks expired and resealed on hatch after hatch. He passed at least two jagged wounds along the bulkheads dividing auxiliary life support from the alpha circuitry conduits that fed power from the lower levels to the nearby control systems. Both were covered in worn-out-looking extra machinery of some kind. Debris was scattered all over the floor.

Finally DeMay rounded a corner and caught just a glimpse of brightly colored feathers. He lunged back and slammed against the bulkhead. The blade of a polished sword put pressure just under his jaw and forced him to his toes. He kept catching his breath, but the exertion pushed him to exhale. Sweat trickled.

The slender gloved hand around the weapon’s hilt tightened. Her face was momentarily hidden underneath her wide-brimmed hat. Then she locked gazes with DeMay. She wore all black, except for a pair of devilishly attractive maroon boots and a white frill around her collar. On her hip was a dangerous-looking black graphite-coated slug-thrower. She wore no recognizable rank or unit insignia, even though there were numerous alien-looking badges and crests. Nevertheless she was unmistakably a human female with the curves to prove it. Behind her, a not-terribly-legitimate-looking technician was cutting through another bulkhead with a portable LASER torch.

“Honored, Commander.” Her cat-like eyes twinkled with playful menace. DeMay took a breath to speak.

“Don’t bother warning me about the security detail,” she quipped. “There are eight unfortunate souls on this ship. None are marines, and I have their Captain.”

She nimbly disarmed the Commander with her free hand and gave the sidearm to a man standing nearby casual observers might have described as a cross between a hairless gorilla and an attack dog. He wore a bandoleer filled with formidable knives and an inelegant metal collar apparently meant to compensate for his lack of hair. On his back was a highly illegal Talon-Z rifle. A moment later, another man arrived. This one was shorter and a bit more stylishly dressed.

“Engineering, alpha junction and life support secured. We have all major systems keyed to our control. We’ve taken her a prize!”

“Very well. Order Small Bird to picket course two,” the young woman replied. Then she turned her attention back to her prisoner. “If I recall, the proper Skywatch protocol is ‘you’re relieved, Captain.’”