“Everyone?” Marphissa eyed her, then understanding dawned. “The entire crew? They didn’t just kill the snakes?”
“No. Apparently they think of mobile forces personnel in the same way as they do snakes.” Her statement, which would surely be repeated around the flotilla, was a small but hopefully effective inoculation against the infection threatened by the workers’ committee on the mobile forces facility. At least it would help ensure that any overtures from those workers were met with suspicion by the crews of her warships.
* * *
TWELVE hours later, Iceni watched the shape of the mobile forces facility slowly begin to slide around the curve of the gas giant as heavy cruisers C-448 and C-413 strained to move the mass of the battleship to a new position in orbit. Watching a visual of the mobile forces facility, it was as if the facility was what was moving, not the battleship, creeping a bit at a time out of sight. “We can’t accelerate any more than this?” Iceni asked.
Marphissa spread her hands. “We could, Madam President, but we have to slow it down again. The faster we get it going, the more momentum, the longer it will take us to stop it.”
“Even presidents have to answer to the laws of physics, I suppose.” A comm alert sounded. “I’m being called by the mobile forces facility,” Iceni said. “They’ve probably noticed that the battleship is going away.”
“Even a workers’ committee should have realized that they don’t have any means of making you give it back.” Marphissa leaned closer, activating the privacy field around her chair. “There’s talk among the crews about what happened at that facility. Little agreement with what they did but what seems to be general agreement with their grievances.”
“That’s not good.”
“On the positive side, some of the things you’ve done, like changing their titles from line worker to specialist, are viewed as evidence that the workers will be treated with more respect by you than they have grown used to expecting from Syndicate CEOs.”
But what did that mean they would expect from her in the future? “How much longer until we can move this battleship under its own power?” Iceni asked for what must have been the twentieth time.
“The latest estimate is another sixteen hours. Madam President, it would be dangerous to get that battleship under way with only the outfitting crew. There’s not enough of them to operate that unit safely. I strongly advise cannibalizing the crews of the heavy cruisers for enough personnel to get the battleship to Midway.” Marphissa paused, then continued. “I should add that if we did so, the combat capability of the heavy cruisers would be significantly compromised.”
Why did I ever become a CEO? Or rather, a president? “I’ll consider the suggestion.” Keep the battleship safe by taking crew members from the cruisers, which meant the cruisers couldn’t adequately defend the battleship, and the reason the cruisers needed to be there was to keep the battleship safe. It would be nice every once in a while to have some good alternatives to choose among.
At least this time she had plenty of opportunity to consider her decision. With the mobile forces facility no longer able to view the battleship, the heavy cruisers had begun pivoting the battleship up and over so they could point it and them in the other direction and begin using their main propulsion units to slow it back down. Iceni watched the perspective of the gas giant on her close-in display shift slowly as the battleship and the two heavy cruisers mated to it gradually brought their noses up and up. It wasn’t quite as bad as watching grass grow, but must rank as a close second even though in the visual light spectrum the images of the clouds on the gas giant could be dramatic.
That was the problem with space. On rare occasions, things happened way too fast, with only moments to make crucial decisions and only tiny fractions of a second to engage the enemy, but by far the majority of the time everything happened slowly. Even with the tremendous velocities that modern spacecraft could achieve, it took a long time to cover billions of kilometers, and light itself seemed slow when it took hours to cross the distance between you and another group of ships, or between you and a planet. The flotilla she had sent to the second planet to chase off the snake-controlled warships had left nearly twelve hours ago, but was still nearly three hours from getting there even when traveling at thirty thousand kilometers a second. And whenever the snake-controlled warships reacted to the approach of that flotilla, it would take her about an hour and a half simply to see it.
Simultaneously bored and tense, finding it hard to focus on the decisions that had to be made at some point but not immediately, Iceni thought about Marphissa’s proposal to name the battleship. If she named that battleship, then there would have to be names for the other warships as well, the cruisers and the HuKs. Was there supposed to be some kind of system to that?
If there was, the Alliance would use such a system. And naming conventions were the sort of thing Alliance prisoners would have spoken freely about since they didn’t involve anything the Syndicate Worlds could have used in the war. Iceni did a search of interrogation results, finding a series of reports on that very topic.
The first answered a question she had actually wondered about for some time but never gotten around to looking up an answer for. Why didn’t the Alliance politicians stroke their egos by naming Alliance battleships and battle cruisers after themselves? The answer involved those same egos, because it turned out they could never agree on who got the honor, instead engaging in endless squabbles. Which raises the question of why the Syndicate Worlds never named our battleships and battle cruisers after the highest-ranking CEOs. I can’t believe the Alliance politicians have bigger egos than the top CEOs that I’ve encountered. Maybe our CEOs, like their politicians, couldn’t agree on whom among them to honor.
Why not name the battleship after her? The Iceni. There was something breathtaking about the idea of a battleship Iceni. But something in her felt a little odd at the idea, too, as if she were an incredibly ancient ruler with an incredibly huge ego constructing a massive monument to herself. Like one of those . . . what were they called . . . pyramids back on Old Earth.
Still . . . All right, say I name it after me. If all goes well, at some point we will find a way to get another battleship or a battle cruiser. I’d have to name it after Drakon. Assuming that something hasn’t happened to Drakon before that. But then what about a third? Who gets that name? I’ve seen how vicious internal fights can get over far smaller issues of ego and precedence and recognition. Do I really want that kind of headache? Do I want my largest warships to be pretentious monuments to living politicians? And what if I named one Drakon, and he and I had a falling-out? Rename it. Maybe rename it again. And again. And the name means nothing to anyone because everyone knows it’s just a flavor-of-the-month sort of thing.
Could the Syndicate bureaucracy’s refusal to give warships names have actually been a smart thing to do given the way CEOs are? I suppose even the Syndicate bureaucracy gets things right every once in a while.
But naming it Midway, as Marphissa suggested, would avoid those problems. And if she acquired allied star systems, the next battleship or battle cruiser could be, say, Kane. That would stroke the egos of an entire star system. A useful thing to be able to do.
What about the smaller warships? The Alliance, it seemed, named its heavy cruisers for armor or fortifications or simply hard substances, like Diamond. The light cruisers were named for both offensive and defensive things, and the destroyers, larger than Syndicate HuKs but with the same kinds of missions, were named after weapons.
She needed that kind of category system but couldn’t use the Alliance system. No one would like that. What else was there? As she had with the rank system, Iceni called up historical files, searching for ships once associated with the Syndicate Worlds or parts of it that had names. She had to go back a long way, to the period when the star systems in this region were first being colonized, s
ome by very long voyages from Old Earth itself to stake a human claim to as much space as possible at a time when there were worries about quickly encountering another intelligent species.
There were some names in those old historical files. A lot were human names, individuals whose meaning and onetime importance had been long since lost. Perhaps some of those names had belonged to politicians, but if so, their quest for immortality through that means had fallen far short of eternity.
But there were other names. Manticore, Basilisk, Gryphon. She knew some of those. Mythical creatures. Powerful mythical creatures. And the names were also linked to long ago, to the ships used by the ancestors that the crew members had covertly continued to worship despite official disapproval. Good. Very good. That took care of the heavy cruisers.
Phoenix. Iceni kept her eyes focused on that name, thinking about that creature. She had been increasingly bothered by the scorched-earth tactics of the snakes and even non-ISS types like the late CEO Kolani when they were cornered. The thought had already occurred to her that such people wanted to leave behind nothing that Iceni could use, nothing but ashes that would provide no benefit for the citizens of rebelling star systems.
But in mythology, the phoenix rose from ashes. A rebirth. That particular symbol was not for any one ship. No. She would hold that one ready, to symbolize what might become far more than one star system linked by association, ready to work together against their former masters and any other threat. They would build something new from the ashes of the Syndicate Worlds.
But that was a matter for another day. For now, what about names for the light cruisers? Iceni looked at her display in hope of inspiration. On the display, the detached flotilla still hung moving slowly against the image of this part of the star system. The projected vector for the flotilla curved toward the second planet, like the path of a bird of prey swooping down upon its victim.
A bird of prey? Hawk, Eagle, Raven? Was a Raven a bird of prey? Never mind. She liked the imagery.
That left the HuKs. What to signify with them? Something she wanted to encourage. But what? The sort of thing she had seen with Sub-Executive Kontos, standing sentry on the bridge of the battleship until relieved.
Standing sentry.
Sentry.
Sentinel. Defender. Guardian. Scout. Warrior. There were a lot of options there. And crew members who had been happy to be changed from being line workers to being called specialists would surely like the idea of their ships having similarly less generic titles.
Decision made. No bureaucracy to be consulted.
Iceni looked to Marphissa. “So, Kommodor, when do you want to be formally appointed the commanding officer of the battleship Midway?”
Marphissa’s face lit. “She will get a name?”
“Yes.” She. I guess that I’d better get used to hearing that.
“Madam President, I am honored beyond measure that—”
“Kommodor!” the operations specialist said. “Activity near the second planet!”
Iceni swiveled her gaze back to her display. An hour and a half ago, the snake-controlled warships had done something. But what?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“ACCELERATING and vectoring away from the planet,” Marphissa commented after watching for a few minutes.
“What about shuttle activity to them?” Iceni asked. “There wasn’t any alert on that before they started moving.”
“There have been a lot of shuttle runs to those units ever since they achieved orbit. The half hour before they started moving had plenty, but not an unusual amount compared to the hours before that.”
All they could do was sit and watch until the one light cruiser and two HuKs still controlled by the snakes settled out on a clear vector. The bent cone indicating possible courses kept narrowing until it formed a single curving line heading past the star and outward. “The jump point for Kukai,” the maneuvering specialist announced.
“That was their only other choice unless they wanted to go to Midway,” Marphissa noted, “but they are leaving the star system.”
“Make sure,” Iceni said, “that our detached flotilla—”
She stopped speaking as an alert sounded, and new symbols flashed on the display.
“They’ve launched bombardment projectiles,” the combat specialist said in a hushed voice.
Damn. How many projectiles did those three units have on board? Enough to devastate the second planet?
“They’re headed . . . outward,” the combat specialist reported, his voice reflecting bafflement.
“What?” Iceni leaned closer to her display as if that might provide more detail. “They can’t hit the battleship from where they’re firing. Not with unguided projectiles that would have to whip around the gas giant in a partial orbit before impact.”
“That is correct, Madam President, but the projectiles are heading toward the gas giant.”
Marphissa spread her hands in bafflement, eyes fixed on her own display. “How long until we can figure out what they’re aiming at?”
“Maybe half an hour, Kommodor.” The combat specialist hesitated. “They must know that trying to hit any mobile unit with kinetic rounds fired from that distance is hopeless.”
“And yet they launched them in this direction.”
“Yes, Kommodor, but there is one thing near here, one thing orbiting the gas giant, which is not a mobile unit.”
An angry sound came from Marphissa. “The mobile forces facility. But why don’t they want to preserve that intact in the expectation that they’ll control it again when the Syndicate Worlds sends new forces here?”
“Excuse me, Kommodor, but the facility isn’t intact. It was badly damaged during the fighting to control it. We don’t know how badly, but we know the main dock has been destroyed. That explosion must have torn apart most of the shipyard capabilities on the facility.”
Marphissa turned to Iceni. “The facility is no longer very useful, and the snakes know that the workers’ committee took it over. They’re sending the strongest possible message to this star system by smashing that facility. What do we do?”
“Why do we have to do anything?” Iceni asked. “The citizens on the mobile forces facility will see the projectiles coming and they’ll evacuate.”
“Yes, Madam President. The only mobile unit at the facility was destroyed in the internal fighting, and we destroyed the freighter on its way here with snake reinforcements. They’ll have to evacuate in any surviving tugs and escape pods, which are certain to be overloaded.”
Oh. Iceni judged the distances involved to reaching safety. “That will be pushing the capabilities of the pods, and probably the tugs.”
“We could detach a few of our—”
“No.” She might not want the workers’ committee and their fellow radicalized workers to suffocate in the cold dark, but that didn’t mean she wanted them spreading poison to her crews. “What about that merchant?” She pointed to her display, centering it on one of the merchant ships that had arrived since the fighting or left the second planet, crossing the star system on their way to one or the other of the two jump points that were all Kane had. Prudence might have dictated postponing any voyages, but in the Syndicate Worlds caution alone wasn’t accepted as an excuse for failure to carry out ordered tasks. Schedules must be met. As soon as the combat between the flotillas ended, merchant ships had gotten under way. One of those merchant ships was only ten light-minutes from the gas giant though already past the planet’s orbit and heading outward.
“Should I contact them?” Marphissa asked.
“No, I’ll do it.” Composing herself, Iceni tapped her controls. “Merchant ship SWCC-10735, this is President Iceni. The citizens on the mobile forces facility orbiting the fourth planet will soon be forced to evacuate. You are to alter course toward that facility, re
ndezvous with the tugs and escape pods from that facility, and take the citizens in them safely to the second planet before proceeding on your business. Acknowledge receipt of this message and understanding of your orders. For the people, Iceni, out.” Short and to the point. There should be no room for misunderstanding.
But a reply would take about twenty minutes. Ten minutes to get there and ten to get back.
The battleship and two heavy cruisers had finally finished swinging completely about and were slowing again under the thrust of the cruisers’ propulsion units when the reply came.
“This is Senior Ship’s Controller Hafely.” Hafely had the fixed expression characteristic of those executives who couldn’t conceive of doing anything contrary to directions. In Iceni’s experience, most executives like that couldn’t do anything without clear and detailed directions, either. “My ship is owned and operated by the Yegans Syndicate. I am under orders from my Syndicate not to deviate from my assigned transport movements except as required by authorities of the Syndicate Worlds or if threatened by Alliance raiders. I am continuing on my movements as scheduled by my Syndicate.”
“Not even a courteous sign-off at the end,” Iceni commented.
“Madam President,” Marphissa said, looking and sounding angry, “should I take appropriate action?”
“Oh, no, Kommodor. I want to respond to this individual personally. He needs to be motivated.” Another moment to prepare, then Iceni hit the transmit command once more and began speaking in a calm voice. “Senior Ship’s Controller Hafely, this is President Iceni of the independent Midway Star System. You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I care about your orders from the Yegans Syndicate. You also seem to think that you are not required to obey my orders. I will say this once, Senior Ship’s Controller Hafely. Listen carefully.”
Her voice had hardened and deepened, lowering slightly in volume. “I am in command of three heavy cruisers, six light cruisers, and eight Hunter-Killers. Any one of those units is capable of totally destroying your ship. If I do not as soon as possible receive an acknowledgment of your orders from me to assist the evacuees from the mobile forces facility, as well as your intent to obey those orders, and see your ship begin to carry out those orders, I will send one of my light cruisers to intercept your ship and obliterate it. But that cruiser will be under orders to attempt to ensure that you personally survive the destruction of your ship, so that you can be placed in an escape pod that will be launched on a vector that ensures it cannot be reached by anyone before its life support gives out.
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