Life is full of big things. Things like a thousand foot long cargo ship, or the vast, seemingly eternal sapphire-blue seas it floated upon. But, as anyone can attest, it is sometimes the
little things that can matter the most . . . little things like football-sized robots, bobbling just below the waves, directly in the path of a
certain ship.
Cordell tracked the entire operation on the glowing displays of her airship's cockpit, a long green rectangle representing the cargo ship inching ever closer to the tiny orange dots that stood in for her improvised troublemakers. So far, everything was going according to plan. The freighter was exactly where her source, a drunk-as-a-skunk private security moron, had said it would be. It was a fairly high end Vaktar ship -- top-dollar autopilot, a quality radar / sonar package, and sufficient guns tracking the sky and the sea to cut down most Grimm without a whole lot of trouble. It was the kind of ship that a big name business could feel
safe putting their precious cargo on... and it was that much-vaunted sense of safety, along with the desire to cut down on payroll, that left it most exposed.
"All units have reached suitable distance from the ship, captain."Cordell smiled at her digital first mate's update.
"About time -- was gettin' bored off me arse up here. Have 'em go in, nice an' slow like."Receiving a low-frequency ping from a floating transponder buoy a mile or so off, the half-dozen drifting robots suddenly came alive. They were simple machines: a tiny electric outboard motor, a GPS tag, four spider-like limbs with electromagnets on the feet, remote control functions as basic as a toy helicopter, waterproofing, and that was it. Effectively, each was a home made drone built to do three things: float, climb a cargo ship's outer hull... and, upon reaching a specific point on the hull, detonate a small Dust-powered EMP charge tucked in amidst its circuitry. Single use and disposable? Unfortunately, yes. Effective? Well... that all depended on how good the blueprints Cordell had bought off the CCT dark net turned out to be.
Seconds ticked by, then minutes. All Cordell could see for certain was that the green rectangle now had a bad case of orange dots around its edges; Delahaye was in the driver's seat for this part. After what seemed a miniature eternity, the orange dots quickly began to blink out one by one. It was all the brunette could do not to hold her breath in anticipation.
"... Well?""One moment captain." Del was still processing, it seemed -- trying to get reliable intel from this far away was taxing even her fairly impressive sensor suite.
"... Five EM detonations confirmed, with one unit evidently having shorted out in the attempt. Sensors indicate that the target's engines are spinning down and their radar and sonar are no longer projecting. My conclusion is that phase one was a success."Cordell couldn't suppress a devious grin and a triumphal fist-pump before practically
leaping up from her chair.
"Del! Lay in an intercept course with all speed, an' make ready fer boardin' action." She plucked up the elaborate red longcoat that had been draped over the back of the chair and donned it with a deft whirl before retrieving her hat from atop a nearby console, all the while grinning a devilish grin.
"Time t' get me some Port Belusia rum.""As you wish captain."On the Vaktar cargo boat, Michael's first indication that something had gone wrong would be a series of faint
pop-hiss sounds on the boat's outer hull, each shortly followed by the
sploosh sound of something vaguely the size and weight of a bowling ball hitting the water. At the same exact time any shipboard lights he could see would suddenly flicker and go out, followed a minute or so later by the engine slowing to a stop and the ship beginning to drift. If there was
anyone on the ship's bridge who wasn't asleep or drunk stupid they were likely beginning to panic now as the sudden realization of a ship without power hit them like a ton of bricks.
And then, directly ahead and just above the horizon, a flicker of
crimson broke the cloud-scattered sky, like a pinprick just starting to bleed. The object grew larger to the naked eye as it approached, and when it banked the outlines of an airship could clearly be made out... a very
distinct airship. The Red Corsair theatrically buzzed over the disabled cargo ship, coming within fifty feet of the ship's deck and veering away in a wash of searing hot thrust at the seeming last moment before looping back and coming to hover in place overhead. A gray hatch on the underside slid open and a figure descended, one foot looped into a drop line to secure her safe ride down. In a seawind-swept cacophony of brass, belts, and scarlet hues Cordell stepped onto the deck with pistol in one hand and cutlass secured at her hip, all sly grins and darting eyes.
Now, where did they keep that rum...?