Free The Twice and Future Caesar by R. M. Meluch

The half hook immediately released. The uprooted emplacement flew away in the direction of one of Indra Shwa’s suns.
    â€œStatus of target,” Captain Carmel demanded. She didn’t want to see that coming back.
    â€œHostile weapon is not functioning,” Tactical advised.
    â€œDoes it have any propulsion system to get itself back?” Calli asked.
    â€œNegative,” Tactical reported.
    Dingo Ryan added, “That weapon emplacement was never meant to fly. The only way that’s ever coming back is if some other spacecraft hooks it and hauls it back.”
    â€œTactical. Monitor that. Helm, take us back to the asteroid.”
    A thumping in the deck had started low. Got louder. Pushed into Calli’s awareness.
    The fighter pilots, obeying the order for com silence, had taken to stomping their war dance in their cockpits. Sounded like all of them.
BOOM pom pom pom BOOM pom pom pom
. The Swifts were still in physical contact with the ship, so Calli could actually feel the thumps from here on the command platform.
    Calli gave the order. “Mister Ryan. Let my dogs out.”
    Kerry Blue woulda sang hallelujah except that Kerry Blue couldn’t sing.
Merrimack
retracted her energy canopy, and the Swifts were off in four, three, two, YeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeHA!
    The fighter craft screamed off the battleship’s wings, coms on. Most all of them yelled, slung out at 53 percent of the speed of light. The inertial field only let you feel a fraction of the g’s you were actually pulling, but it was still a rush. The inertial field kept the launch from shooting you out your own aft hole.
    Kerry Blue yipped and yelled with the rest of them. Remembering that Reg Monroe used to have a screech that only bats could hear, she gave a couple of yips for Reg.
    The voice of Cain Salvador sounded in Kerry Blue’s helmet. “Deploy lampreys only. Do not damage the targets. Assume the presence of hostages on board all enemy craft.”
    Problem with being an instant officer is that your mates forget you aren’t one of them anymore, and Kerry Blue sent back, “Been told five times, Cain.”
    So the Fleet Marine pilots got told for a sixth time: “Arrest all spacecraft. Do not destroy enemy spacecraft.”
    That was
not
Cain Salvador.
    That
was the voice of God Almighty this time. Captain Calli Carmel.
    Kerry joined in the company choir: “Aye, aye, sir!”
    * * *
    Far below, Roman spacecraft launched from their underground bunkers and ran for the big empty. Kerry Blue wasn’t sure what kind of hostage the brass thought the enemy could be holding out here. She was just glad to be out of the can and in the hunt.
    Knew she needed to run down the enemy before it got clear of the star system’s gravitational pull.
    Even the slightest gravitational pull got huge when a ship was trying to jump out of normal spacetime. Inside the gravitation of Indra Shwa’s three suns and all their orbital crap, the enemy could only run at sublight velocity. But once out of the gravity sink, your Roman target could jump to FTL. And anything achieving FTL has escaped—gone, you’ll never see that fugger again, you lost that one, bucko.
    So ram your stick through the gate and catch him before he can get there.
    The Swifts carried lampreys for this sortie. The right tool for this job.
    Kerry had trained on lampreys. Well, not really. She’d trained in a dream box. Never actually used a real lamprey. But the simulators were usually good for teaching you to get it right the first time.
    The lamprey was an energy half hook with an additional physical barb on the end of it. How it was supposed to go: The energy tendril loops the target, inserts microbarbs through the weakest part of the target’s energy field and into the hull—not enough to breach the hull and let the vacuum in—just enough to snag and hold and reel him in alive.
    Someone who wasn’t Kerry Blue wanted