Last Stand Book One of the Stag Privateers series. by Nathan Jones Copyright © 2019 Nathan Jones All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. The events depicted in this novel are fictional. The characters in this story are also fictional, and any resemblance to anyone living or dead is entirely unintentional. Illustration © Tom Edwards TomEdwardsDesign.com by Nathan Jones POST-APOCALYPTIC BEST LAID PLANS Fuel Shortage Invasion Reclamation Determination NUCLEAR WINTER First Winter First Spring Chain Breakers Going Home Fallen City MOUNTAIN MAN Badlands Homeland Mountain War (upcoming) SCIENCE FICTION STELLAR MERGER Boralene Ensom (upcoming) STAG PRIVATEERS Last Stand Caretakers (upcoming) Table of Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Epilogue Author's Note Links to books by Nathan Jones Chapter One Target The privateer starship Last Stand hovered behind a moderately sized cluster of debris, far out on an obscure approach to the Breson 2 spaceport. It had the flat, triangular shape and stubby wings of a light cargo freighter, and a particularly ugly one at that: its outer hull plates were mismatched and poorly patched, as if they'd been cobbled together from scrap by drunken space nomads. Someone had lazily slapped a coat of dark paint over all of it, thin and scraped in spots and thick and runny in others. It had numerous dents, ranging from micrometeoroid scuffs all the way to a serious crumpling along the port wing as if it had endured a major collision. In a few spots, the dark paint didn't completely hide the blackened scorch marks across the hull plates that had either been caused by engine burns, which was unlikely, intense solar energy, which was slightly less unlikely, or laser fire. An unusually high amount of laser scoring for a simple freighter, as if it had been through dozens of battles. That was the first hint that, when it came to the Last Stand, appearances were deceiving. Another would've been a scan of its current power output, which was roughly double what it should've been. Or of its top end, military-grade, multilayered shielding system, which few but the most paranoid freighter captains would pay to install. Or the weapons ports hidden among the mismatched hull plates, some concealed entirely behind retractable plating. Far, far more weapons than any cargo hauler should ever need, even in the lawless fringes of the Deconstructionist Movement's territory where Breson 2 was located. In fact, the Last Stand was even better armed than most light combat cruisers. Which, coincidentally, was what it had started out as before extensive renovations. As Captain Aiden Thorne had explained it to his crew when he ordered the renovations, it was easier for a predator to move among the prey when it looked like prey itself. And today, they had prey. “Target just completed a rift jump at the anticipated location,” his science officer, Barix Ishiv, said abruptly. A slight smile of satisfaction curved the edges of the slight, patrician man's lips. Right on schedule. Aiden felt a moment of satisfaction that the information they'd stolen from the ship's logs of their last target was still accurate. “Their course?” “Also as anticipated.” The Ishivi's voice was cold and emotionless, showing none of the excitement the news should've prompted. He probably thought all this was beneath him, the purebred sewage clog. That, or since they'd done this sort of thing so many times already he thought it was routine. More fool him; Aiden had fought in at least twice as many battles as anyone on his crew, enough to learn the hard lesson that the more proficient you became at waging war, the more wary you needed to become of overconfidence. It only took one lucky shot from an incompetent enemy to ruin your day. Aiden had lost far too many friends to those sorts of astronomical odds to ever let down his guard, no matter how easy the fight seemed. Besides, with how their luck was going lately he could feel that one in a million shot looming over his head like a noose. Either way, he felt enough excitement for the both of them. This was what he lived for: the moments before battle, the anticipation of crushing a deserving enemy. After almost a decade of running and hiding from bitter defeat, watching the universe around him crumple into a black hole of chaos and lawlessness as humanity happily flew towards the event horizon, sometimes he thought the fight was the only thing he still lived for. “Still on target to come within range of our present?” he asked, flexing his fingers to limber them up in preparation for the piloting he was about to do. Barix gave him a slightly contemptuous look. “What part of “also as anticipated” was confusing to you? They'll be passing within ten kilometers of the package, just as planned.” Well. Given how their luck had been running lately, that was practically a miracle. The “package” was a utility bot powered off and concealed among some debris. Most utility bots were fairly harmless, but this one had been fitted with an atomic weapon in a radiation shielded casing so the target's sensors wouldn't pick it up. A space mine, essentially. Although Aiden didn't like to compliment Barix and feed the man's already insufferable ego, he had to give credit where credit was due. The tactic was almost never used, because of the difficulty in effectively setting mines in the vastness of space that had any hope of hitting a passing ship. But the Ishivi had managed to calculate their target's route so accurately, they were going to catch it with the single mine they'd prepared. He briefly considered upping the man's share for this haul, then snorted. Yeah, he'd do that about the same time
