Contacts. Three of them. His eyes narrowed. They were moving fast and closing on an intercept vector.
"What was that?" Amelia asked from beside him.
"Quiet."
He expanded the sweep. The contacts were running with transponders dark, which meant one thing. They didn't want to be identified, which meant they were either black-ops or?—
The lead ship's energy signature resolved on the scanner and his stomach dropped into his boots.
Draanth.
C'Vaal pirates. Real pirates, not the opportunistic kind who hit cargo haulers and ran at the first sign of a patrol. The C’Vaal were the real deal. The pirate clan had operated out of the dead zones between systems since the empire was an empire. They’d been founded by the grandson of one of the original princes of the Lathar, and they’d never forgotten that. Control of the pirate clan had been handed down from ‘prince’ to ‘prince’ since then. They were ruthless and brutal, and most of their ships had enough firepower to make Imperial cruiser captains think twice about pursuing.
And they were heading straight for them.
He sat back, thinking furiously. The Vett'an was fast, but the C'Vaal ships were already inside the engagement envelope, which meant they'd been tracking him before he'd even cleared atmosphere. Waiting. Trall, they'd known the ship was on Earth.
Sighing, he thumped his head back against the seat. Of course they draanthing had. The Vett'an was the Emperor's personal yacht. It was the most recognizable ship in the fleet. He might as well have painted a target on the hull and sent out gods-damned invitations.
"Draanth my life," he muttered, and his hands moved across the console, pulling up every system the Vett'an had. Shields first. The yacht's defensive screens were rated for diplomatic incidents, not naval engagements. Then navigation… he needed an exit vector, something tight enough to —
"What's happening?" Amelia's voice was tight.
"We have company," he said, not looking away from the console. "Three ships. They're not friendly."
The shields expanded and a section of the console he'd never seen before lit up. His eyes widened. Weapons systems.
Not the light defensive array he'd expected either, but a full tactical suite. He whistled between his teeth. The ship might be compact, but this weapons system was vicious, packed into housings that had been invisible until the ship's threat assessment triggered them. Targeting, countermeasures, point defense, and something in the forward array that he didn't recognize but whose power draw made his eyebrows climb.
Draanth yes, the Emperor's yacht had teeth and then some.
Thyaar almost laughed, but this was Daaynal’s ship. The male walked around with four personal drakeen, so this was totally in keeping.
"Define 'not friendly.'"
The threat assessment on screen wiped the smile right off his face.
The three C'Vaal ships closing on him were all twice the Vett'an's size, and he had a civilian and a cat on board. Whatever the yacht was packing, it wasn't going to change those numbers.
"Pirates. The worst kind." He adjusted course, angling for a gap between two of the approaching signatures. "They think the Emperor is on this ship. They're wrong, but I don't think they're going to take my word for it."
Her hand tightened on Barnaby's fur.
"So what do we do?"
He opened the throttle and the Vett'an surged forward, pressing them into their seats as the stars streaked past them.
"We run like draanth."
She'd never been in a car crash, but she imagined this was what it felt like.
The Vett'an banked hard to port, and she smacked into the side of the seat, her harness digging into her collarbone. The stars outside the viewport swung sideways, snapped back, then swung the other way. Her stomach stayed about three moves behind the rest of her. Barnaby had his claws sunk into her thigh through the borrowed pants, hanging on with the grim focus of a cat who'd decided this latest indignity was definitely her fault.
"Thyaar? Can you—" She gasped, trying to hold onto Barnaby while trying to disengage his claws from her leg. "Can you maybe not do that?"
Thyaar didn't look at her as his hands flew across the console. The light from the screens caught the line of his jaw and the hard set of his mouth.
Right. Shutting up now.
