Excerpt: A Pirate, Not a Gentleman

More nebula, more dust clouds. A small sloop had turned tail and fled, a black flag fluttering after it. Though he was heartened by the two recent victories, they hinted at the existence of a far larger fleet hidden in the nebula, and Tybalt did not like that. If he knew anything about Marcelon, he was willing to bet that the man was trying to get their confidence up to an absurd level, hoping that they would then make mistakes. They still needed to be wary.
That aside, it was a true relief to see the crew so relaxed. Beating a first rate always made even the most dour and discontent crew happy, and his was far from it. Tybalt would have felt better had the ship not still been hanging around somewhere in the nebula, but he didn’t want to take the victory for granted.
The maneuver, for one, had been so old it creaked. It was amazing how many captains didn’t think in three dimensions when fighting. Most would work as if the ships’ keels sat on a plane, maneuvering around instead of up or down. It surprised him that one of Marcelon’s captains would be such an idiot, though. Unless, of course Marcelon had wanted them to win.
And that was just absurd. He folded his arms and glared at the nebula in general, daring it to generate another ship. It didn’t.
“Sir.”
He turned to face Vagenan, who was uncharacteristically quiet, and stared at the ground with her hands folded in front of her, cap drawn down firmly over her hair.
“Yes?”
“A word with you in private, sir.” The hands clenched, though she still didn’t look up. “It’s important.”
Tybalt nodded to Renyolds, who took his place. “Certainly,” he said, not bothering to mask the curiosity and worry in his voice.
It was only when the door of the cabin had been firmly closed that Vagenan looked up. Tybalt nearly took a step back—rage blazed in her eyes, the freckles standing dark on her pale face.
“The saboteur is good, and I have no clue who she or he is,” she said. “I’m willing to bet it’s a professional. Our engines near blew during that last fight. If I hadn’t been there…” She was angry enough that she unconsciously dropped into dockyard slang, her voice twanging as she spoke. “Whoever it was must have just done it, too—it was only luck I heard the ticks when I did.”
“What?”
“There was a bomb. A bomb! And not one of those shoddy little gunpowder jobs, neither, but a clockwork activated one, gears and all. Timed, I should think. I only found it because I was standing right next to it. It was very good, sir, and whoever made it was too. Whoever placed it was good, too. Would have taken out the engines had I not caught it.”
“And?”
“I dropped the airsheild, dumped the ticker into the nebula. Probably was still falling when it blew.” Vagenan pulled a slip of aethergram paper out of her pocket and handed it to him. “And there was this, too, tucked under it. They must have been hoping that it would be destroyed. Problem is, sir, it’s already sent.”
“Well done,” said Tybalt, reading it. He finished it and started again, shocked. It was a detailed itinerary, as if the spy had been reading his logs. “How did they…”
“I have no idea, sir. It’s like they were reading your logs. And sir, look at the bottom…”
Crew confident, but T. still suspicious. Too early for maneuver D.