The rogue privateer corvette was coming in hot.
Lord Giles Croft stood on the overhead frame deck of Berth Four. He watched the three-hundred-ton black war-skiff slice through the lower mist.
Her forward repulsor vents were glowing bright crimson, howling at maximum reverse thrust. But her approach speed was reckless.
Thirty-five knots.
Her heavy iron ramming beak was aimed directly at the timber loading platforms where sixty civilian stevedores were stacking spice crates.
“He thinks he can perform a combat landing and seize the overhead frame by boarding action,” Captain Kenneth Drake said.
The guard post marshal stood beside the heavy low roof wall, thirty armored legionnaires ranked behind him with loaded repeating heavy steel crossbows.
“Shall I order a volley into their pilot house, Lord Giles?”
