To Nabiki's mind, the glorious thing about buying ships from scrap yards was their eminent deniability. They could be any make or model, or built anywhere, by any species, and she could claim whatever she liked about them.
Presently, she had about seven cruiser-equivalents mustered: Two Dreadnoughts for fighting power, one bulk cruiser for going first and taking hits, an old luxury liner outfitted with enhanced power, shields and weapons refitted by some remote colony as a defense ship and that proved far too powerful so the Navy had confiscated it under the cruiser restriction regs (then sent it to a scrap yard and hence to Nabiki), another fighting ship made out of a luxury liner (this time refitted by the species that made then both, oddly enough), and used by some aquatic world as a picket ship until the Navy had enslaved them, then a handful of smaller craft faster than the cruisers that could be used to cut off escape by the tax ships. Put together, the smaller ships probably had a cruiser's fighting power between them.
Her objective was clear and immediate victory. Nabiki wasn't much of an admiral, she admitted that to herself. But she didn't want to take the chance a captain of one of those two escorts was. She knew the Empire well, intimately really, and had to concede that ability was rarely rewarded. Promotions were often denied those who served their positions well and went to the political power players, like herself. That put far too much chance of there being a brilliant master of tactics running escort duty. Still, more likely than captain, such a person was probably cleaning the galley as cook.
It was becomming not uncommon for really skilled people to leave the Navy for private service. All the best and brightest were being replaced by people similar to herself. Which left alot of talent floating around the galaxy.
Still, the new policies hadn't cleaned them all out, and a duty like boring escort slot was exactly the kind of low-glamor position that was being given to those left. She didn't want to risk running into one unprepared, and if she did, she'd want firepower on her side. Seven to two odds just about fit that.
If any victims escaped alive, Nabiki could deny any part of her fleet they identified, claim the ships were from a well-armed seperatist movement, destroy them and reduce a planet to cinders by using her Imperial make fleet ships and possibly even merit reward for acting so prompty and decicively in putting down a minor insurrection.
Their targets reached a satisfactory point. She nodded to her admiral. The man turned and spoke to the captain. "Notify all ships: All ahead full. Shields up. Power to weapons and prepare for combat."
===========
Shampoo was torn.
They'd not likely see such an opportunity again. The tax revenues of Tapani were so much more than any normal raid she'd have to continue her piracy for months to equal it, and face ever rising chances of getting caught all that time.
She wasn't stupid, and sometimes you have to take risks to minimize risk overall. The small yellow dots of an unidentified pirate fleet accelerating out to meet the tax convoy gave her a chance to blow her secrecy completely, or retire early if she braved the risk and beat it. Or they could go without the money and live on a shoestring budget. Ranma wasn't going to leave her out here until the risk grew too great and she was captured.
But she wanted to retire early and feel Ranma's arms around her sooner, not later.
Centering herself in the Force, she made the decision her great grandmother could be glad of. "All ships: Attack coordinates. Proceed with plan, then engage other pirates. Obstacles are for killing."
===========
Bart Mancuso was from an old navy family, his parents and their parents had been navy for generations. He'd memorized every operating principle in his crib and made an excellent tactician, a fair taskmaster and disciplinarian, well-liked by his men.
He was also barely hanging on to his career by his fingertips.
Seeing first one pirate fleet, then another, heading for his ship, between them numbering twelve cruisers against his two - and one of his being a rich sot's private pleasure boat along for the ride so their passengers could visit Coruscant, he knew that he didn't stand a chance.
That was until his attackers started firing turbolasers at each other.
"Engine room, conn. I need full power and I need it now. Get that Tapani ship on the horn and tell them to stay close alongside, we'll escort the transports between us. Tell them to form up and keep accelerating. We're going to burn our engines to redline to get at that nav point. You copy?"
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(Posted Tue, 23 Mar 2004 19:42)
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