Ship's Boy by Phil Geusz

the class had vanished without a trace during translation. Most likely this particular example of the type had suffered a similar breakdown.
    Certainly her translation was a miserable and poorly-synched one. She popped through a good fifty miles away from where Hummingbird lay seemingly inert in space, which was about as sloppy as the physics of the situation allowed. Space absolutely screamed at the insult; for a moment my vision blurred and twisted demons seemed to march against the stars. Then it was over, and my heart began to thump-thump-thump in excitement. Would the cruiser come and investigate? Would she take the bait? I snugged myself even closer to Hummingbird’ s hull and waited as the enemy vessel zoomed along, seemingly ignoring us. Then, just when the vessel was about to fade from sight entirely…
    …she came about to check us out!
    Thump-thump! Sergeant’s Wells’s fist went on my shoulder, almost hard enough to hurt through the thick fabric. He’d been terribly disappointed to learn that my suit’s communications gear wasn’t compatible with RN stuff,  but so far I thought we’d gotten by plenty well. I thumped him back, then watched as my fellow crewmen, some of whom hadn’t been able to find hideouts as good as ours, slithered through the shadows to take up positions out of line of sight.
    Then, almost before I knew it, the cruiser formed up with Hummingbird and gave us a good, long looking-over. Her Field remained up and strong for what felt like forever; so long that I got a little fidgety and Sergeant Wells thumped me for my trouble. Then she closed in further, further, further, into easy spacer’s jump range…
    …and finally let down her Field so that she could send over a salvage party to search for secret papers and the like.
     

19
    Sword of the People , I was able to read emblazoned on the cruiser’s flank in proud, blue letters. Up until then none of us had known her name—the Field had rendered our antagonist anonymous. In nothing flat all four twin turrets were slewed around facing us and their boarding party was gathering on their outer hull. I gulped as the lock cycled again and again and again, until a good twenty men were standing on Sword’ shull awaiting orders. Most of them were wearing specialized combat suits, which rather frightened me at first. Then I thought things through. This was the group we’d ambush first and hardest—the more marines there were among them, the better.
    The battle was still being planned when Sergeant Wells and I had exited Hummingbird ; while he was still in touch with the captain via secure micropip link I had no way of knowing what was to happen next. So I looked up into his faceplate and shrugged my shoulders. He replied by shaking his head and pressing me down harder against the hull. I scowled and nodded back—the message was clear enough. We were to wait.
    And wait, and wait, and wait it seemed, though my heart was still trying to beat its way out of my chest. It was hard to just float in place while my target loomed so close it took up half the sky! But I had an excellent view as one of the Imperials, some sort of officer judging by the gold-painted symbols on his suit, suddenly saw something he didn’t like and kicked himself around to use his jetpack. The instant he did…
    …something unexpected happened. Suddenly stirring to life, Hummingbird fired her chemical maneuvering jets, which were normally only used for docking. She surged under me, and I was so surprised by the sudden vector that I might’ve floated helplessly away if Sergeant Wells hadn’t grabbed hold. Indeed, well for’rard I saw exactly that happen to someone caught off-guard in a bright-orange lubber’s suit—whether they ever made it back, I’ll never know. In the same instant Hummingbird ’s main armament—blasters no heavier than a large land-fighting vehicle might carry—vomited forth with all they had. Sword fired back, but most of her broadside