Trent Rose exhaled a puff of acrid smoke as the Corsair neared its drop point, only half listening to the bridge crew shout to each other as they prepared to exit the warp. He glanced down at the smoking cigar in his hand and smirked to himself.
It seemed like only yesterday he’d been toiling away in a factory, just another mid hiver. But Midazapine had changed everything. Before he’d known it, his family was rich enough to afford a transport ship... then two... and then an armada. The Black Sail Organization was born, and quickly became the largest criminal enterprise this side of the sector.
It seemed like only yesterday he’d been toiling away in a factory, and today he smoked tobacco... real tobacco. Not the synthetic shit they sold to petty nobles. He took another long drag on the cigar, tapping ash off the end into a crystal tray beside his command chair.
In truth, this Arkangel business seemed a fool’s errand to him. Decades of silence and all of a sudden some self styled ‘arms dealer’ calls the supply station out of the blue claiming to be sitting on a mountain of gold and jewels ripe for the taking. But, Mother had told him to go, and Mother always got her way.
Besides, it was excuse for him to take the Corsair, his newly acquired Sword-Class frigate, out on a test flight... so he supposed he couldn't complain too much.
“Returning to real space in three... two... one...”
The moment the ship dropped out of the warp every alarm on the bridge went off so suddenly and so loudly that Trent nearly dropped his cigar, saving it at the last moment.
“What in the Emperor’s name is with that racket!?” He roared, standing from his command chair.
“Proximity alerts boss!” Someone shouted. “There’s another ship in the system!”
“Where?”
“High orbit over Arkangel.”
“Navy?”
There was a pause as the crew checked augurs and then rechecked.
“Sword-class with no escort, not broadcasting on the naval frequency either. Can’t be the Navy. Rogue Trader maybe.”
Trent was silent, staring at the picture that had been brought up on his view screen. Rogue Traders... what the hell were they doing here on this blasted crag of rock? Had they intercepted the transmission? It was possible. They could be ferrying up this ‘Wolfgang’s’ loot as he spoke.
Mother would flay him alive if he let that treasure slip through his fingers. More so if he lost it to some pompous Rogue Trader.
“Prime all weapons.” He declared loudly, snuffing out the remains of his cigar. “Go to battle stations and prepare to engage, deploy Alpha wing into the atmosphere. Shoot down everything that isn't ours and get a transport on the ground at Wolfgang’s location yesterday!”
“You got it boss.”
Trent sat down and smirked as the weapon systems hummed to life. No way he was losing his treasure to some Rogue Trader.
No. Fucking. Way.
*****************
"Captain, proximity alerts!"
"Unidentified vessel, dead ahead!"
"Enemy weapons are primed and ready!"
Captain Julie Nyota sighed as reports came in from all across the vessel. This was supposed to be a quick and painless mission, instead Alrod had been wounded, six troopers had perished on the surface, and now some unknown enemy wanted to pick a fight with her rented vessel.
