Not, after all, an unlikely occurrence under the present circumstances.
“Strymonian vessels!” Daniel repeated. “Surrender to the RCN or die!”
He’d inset real-time imagery of the frigates across the bottom of his display. The Strymonians orbited with eight antennas partially extended, permitting them to shift into the Matrix on short notice but also able to maneuver in normal space. For the most part they expected to deal with smugglers or merchantmen lifting without paying their port duties, not actual warfare above their homeworld.
Several Selma cutters came out of the Matrix within Strymon’s gravity well. None were particularly close to the guardships, though their varying altitudes and orbits meant that the parties could have volleyed rockets at one another if they’d chosen to do so.
Another score of pirates appeared in near space. Daniel shrank the scale of his PPI to a normal hundred thousand miles; if he’d halved the radius again, he’d still contain the entire Selma fleet.
Most of Kelburney’s captains could have exited within pistol range of the frigates if they’d chosen to do so. The Strymonians would have fired rockets out of reflex before there was time to parley; and then would have died in salvos from the remaining scores of pirate cutters.
Few captains, no matter how brave, would throw their lives and ships away uselessly against overwhelming force—and those few would be restrained or shot by their own crews if they attempted such general suicide. By showing the Strymonians that resistance was pointless, Daniel was letting them save their lives.
Kelburney had accepted the plan with laughing agreement. Daniel didn’t doubt that the pirates would slug it out at knife distance if forced to, but theirs was a business rather than a crusade. Death meant the end of the party and was therefore to be avoided.
“RCN vessel, this is Frigate One-Two-Seven,” said a high-pitched female voice which came to Daniel on a direct link. “We have declared for President Delos Vaughn. Welcome, allies! I repeat, we are allies of the RCN in suppressing the tyranny of the pretender Pleyna Vaughn. What are your requests? One-Two-Seven over.”
President Delos Vaughn? Good God, what had been happening on Strymon during the past few days?
Two of the four frigates vanished, their icons from the PPI and the real-time images from the sidebar as well. They’d shaken out sails on their partial rigs and were escaping into the Matrix rather than trust the mercy of the swarming pirate fleet.
Daniel had expected and intended all four of the pickets to flee during the opportunity he’d given them. 127’s—surrender? claim of alliance?—was a pleasant surprise, leaving only the fourth—
“RCN vessel, this is Two-Oh-Four!” a male voice buzzed through a poorly modulated laser link. “Long live President Delos Vaughn! Long live the Cinnabar Navy!”
Daniel cued his console to respond to both of the surrendering patrol vessels and also to the Astrogator’s flagship. The Princess Cecile wasn’t equipped to contact all sixty-seven ships of the pirate armada in a single transmission; he could only hope that Kelburney was.
“Strymonian vessels One-Two-Seven and Two-Oh-Four,” Daniel said. “This is RCS Princess Cecile, Admiral Leary commanding. Make all your weapons safe, withdraw your gun turrets into your hulls, and hold your orbits. You will not be harmed if you obey these orders to the letter. RCN out.”
There was always a risk that some pirate would settle an old grudge by rocketing sitting ducks like the Strymonian frigates, but that wasn’t Daniel’s major concern at the moment. What happened, happened.
The PPI was alive with cutters circling Strymon, in as many orbits as there were ships. The patterns had the chaotic complexity of a kaleidoscope, seemingly random motion which was nonetheless as precise as a sword dance. Serving alongside the pirates provided memories any captain would cherish. And other memories as well, of course.
Kelburney’s own vessel was in the same orbit as the Princess Cecile, braking hard to hold position ten miles astern. Like the rest of the Selma cutters, it stepped a full set of antennas despite the stresses of maneuvering in normal space. The pirates favored shorter, thicker masts than the starships of more traditional states; even so, the Astrogator must be risking his rig in his desire to be able to race off through the Matrix without delay.