Free Space

by Scott Bartlett

  It was the Eagle, Ramon Pegg’s destroyer, along with every last ship Thatcher had permitted to leave the Freedom System in exchange for Reardon’s surrender.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Aboard the New Jersey

  Red River System, Lacuna Region

  Earth Year 2290

  Like a pack of wolves surprised by prey that had served itself up on a platter, the Reardon ships descended on the Swan, lasers flashing out to play across her shields.

  For a moment, Thatcher was immobilized. The Swan was supposed to be under stealth. How was Reardon able to target her?

  He shook himself. “Guerrero, order all ships to respond with every available laser battery, concentrating fire on Eagle first. Autoturrets should be allowed to lock onto whatever targets they deem optimal.”

  “Aye, sir. Relaying orders now.”

  Within seconds, answering laserfire sprayed across the void, hosing down the destroyer’s shields before her accompanying logistics ship could even think about establishing an energy feed.

  With that, every Frontier ship switched targeting to the Reardon ship with the second-highest value, not bothering to hit the Eagle’s hull with lasers. That would be inefficient, and anyway, with the enemy ships all focused on the Swan and positioned as they were—with zero transversal velocity relative to the Frontier ships’ weapons—autoturrets were already working on ripping apart the destroyer’s hull.

  “The Reardon ships are pulling back, sir.”

  Thatcher nodded. He could see that for himself, as the icon representing hostile vessels inched away on his display. “Order the Swan to withdraw through our formation until she’s safe. All other ships should close around her and maintain fire on Reardon ships.”

  The Kibishii vessel’s shields had fallen seconds ago, even sooner than Thatcher had expected, and the enemy had just begun to pelt her with missiles and autoturret fire. “I want Lightfoot’s rep drones deployed to Swan’s hull.”

  “Already done, sir. The drones are patching her up now.”

  “Excellent.” His bandwidth for giving orders only extended so far, and he was glad the Lightfoot’s captain had taken that initiative, even though he generally preferred to manage as much of a given engagement as he could.

  Guerrero fell back in her seat, a slight smile spreading across her face as tension leaked from her body. “The Swan is safe, sir. The Reardon ships appear to be retreating toward the regional jump gate, however. Looks like they’re trying to prevent us from leaving.”

  They want to keep us busy until the pirates can get here to finish the job. Thatcher had sauntered right into Pegg’s trap. Clearly, the entire conversation about not being able to find any pirates in the north had been an act, and Thatcher had to hand it to the Reardon CEO—he was a good actor. His distress had seemed real, and it had put Thatcher and Rose at ease enough to allow this to happen.

  Even so, Pegg was clearly wary of Frontier after his defeat in Freedom System. When Thatcher had ordered his ships to lash out with everything they had, the Reardon force had flinched back like a traumatized animal.

  Looks like we’re committed to staying in Lacuna, now. Either they would cross this system or they would perish. “Nav, set a course for the jump gate into Caballine, and relay it to your counterparts on other ships.”

  Sullivan gave a sharp nod. “Aye, sir.”

  The gate Thatcher had chosen was consistent with the route he’d worked out with Rose back on Oasis. That was mere coincidence, however: it also happened to be the one with the fewest pirates between it and the New Jersey.

  It took a while for the sensor data to update, but once it did it became clear that nearly every vessel in the system had reacted to the Frontier ships’ course change, all of them speeding along intercept courses.

  Pirate vessels tended to be inferior in every way, however. There were exceptions to that rule, and those exceptions would probably multiply if Degenerate Empire was allowed to gain its footing. But as it was, pirates mostly flew ships that struggled to match a true warship’s power. They rarely manged to capture a proper warship for themselves, instead modifying freighters and mining vessels, strapping on whatever weapons they could get their hands on, and occasionally outfitting them with shields.

  Engine power was one of the ways their ships proved inferior to the ships fielded by private military corporations. As such, Thatcher estimated that only around twenty percent of the converging enemy ships would manage to intercept his battle group before it could reach the jump gate into Caballine, and most of that twenty percent was bunched together in a group of seventeen vessels.

  “Sullivan, adjust our course to head directly for the cluster of pirate ships I’m designating now.” Thatcher dragged a fingertip across the display to select the ships he meant, then forwarded the designations to his Nav officer’s console.

  “Sir?” Sullivan twisted to frown at him.

  “Yes?” Thatcher kept his face perfectly immobile.

  The Nav officer shook himself. “Sorry, sir. Executing now.”

  “Relay the course to your counterparts once you have it.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Thatcher frowned at the back of the lieutenant’s head. Not because he’d seemed about to question his orders, but because something bothered Thatcher about the way he’d had to give those orders.

  Asking his CIC officers to relay orders to their counterparts throughout the battle group added an extra step, and it occurred to him now that it was probably an unnecessary drag on efficiency.

  If he could set up a protocol whereby he could choose to address each ship’s CIC simultaneously, at any time he chose…why, it would speed things up considerably. The various Nav officers might even link their consoles, coordinating to arrive at astrogation courses faster. Tactical officers could share firing solutions, help each other spot errors, and refine their targeting.

  The Fleet would never have allowed it—not without years of consultations, drills, and testing, after which they’d probably scrap the idea. But within Frontier’s fluid structure, the idea was more likely to gain wings. Yes, it might prove an affront to Ops officers at first, since it would lessen the tasks assigned to them. But they’d get used to it, and they would likely find themselves better able to focus on the tasks remaining to them.

  Not something to implement in the middle of a battle. But definitely an idea to keep in mind for future engagements.

  First, he had to make sure they survived this one.

  He kept a close eye on his holoscreen’s tactical display, as well as the data readout in the upper right, which kept him updated on their distance relative to the enemy formation he’d already designated.

  Why did the Swan’s stealth fail? “Guerrero, get me Captain Sho.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Seconds later, the Japanese captain appeared in the holotank.

  Thatcher leaned forward. “Captain, I’m aware you can’t tell me the particulars of why those Reardon ships were able to detect you. But it would be helpful to know whether it was due to a malfunction or the nature of the tech.”

  For a moment, Sho didn’t answer, his lips pressed tightly together. When he did speak, reluctance filled his voice. “It is the nature of the tech.”

  “Are you able to resume stealth, so that we might strike the enemy from an angle they aren’t expecting?”

  “I’m afraid not, Commander. Once detected, it is virtually impossible to break contact. Until we leave this system, at least.”

  “I see. Thank you, Captain. That will be all for now.”

  Sho vanished from the holotank. Thatcher still hadn’t figured out how Kibishii ships managed to prevent such large vessels from being detected at all, and neither had Veronica Rose’s tech people. Under the conventional understanding of stealth in space, it shouldn’t have been possible except under very limited circumstances. Basically, if you couldn’t hide engine burns from enemy sensors, then no stealth was possible.

  He
had noted all three Kibishii troop ships that had visited Freedom System operated using antimatter engines. Maybe that has something to do with it.

  For the moment, it didn’t matter. The Swan couldn’t reenter stealth mode until they escaped the pirates, so where this engagement was concerned, it was a moot point.

  He decided instead to use a tactic the pirates knew well, and no doubt thought about often.

  “Guerrero, have the missile crews load a Hellborn into each tube and ready two more. Instruct every ship in the battle group to do the same, and prepare to synchronize firing on my mark. Upon launch, every ship will accelerate until they’re pacing their own missiles, then fire again.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Among Frontier crews, this tactic had come to be known affectionately as a Hellfire barrage, and its existence meant every starship captain in the Cluster had to account for it. To do otherwise would invite ruin. Given enough runway, a single starship could build up a missile barrage big enough to wreck two enemy ships, maybe more—Thatcher’s first encounter with the pirates had proved that.

  But no one was ready for a battle group-sized Hellfire barrage. Pulling it off had involved having Commander Ainsley put his head together with the chief engineers aboard every other ship, installing select Hellborns with the necessary protocols, and working out matching acceleration profiles.

  Once the pirates they were targeting realized what they were doing—after the third volley of missiles was added to the growing barrage—they reacted predictably. Every single ship came about and fled, scattering and accelerating with all speed toward deep space.

  Thatcher smiled grimly. It had used up three entire volleys of missiles, but it seemed their battle group-wide Hellfire barrage would see them safely out of the system.

  With their targets fleeing, the Frontier ships reduced speed to wait for the slower Kibishii ship to catch up, which had been left behind by the increased velocity that had been required to execute the barrage. As for the pirates, they would likely be safe, provided they didn’t stop accelerating for some time. Every missile ran out of fuel eventually, and Hellborns were no different. They would soon be floating in space, wasted, and after a period of inactivity they would self-destruct.

  But Thatcher’s formation would be safe. For the moment.

  A few of the pirate ships that hadn’t been part of the formation he’d targeted could still have intercepted the Frontier-Kibishii battle group, in theory. They were close enough. But they were also too few. Thatcher was confident he could have destroyed them in passing, if they ventured near enough. But they didn’t dare.

  “Preparing to transition through the jump gate into Caballine,” Guerrero said a little under an hour later, well after it was clear they would escape with every ship intact. “I’ve been pinging the gate. Everything’s showing up green.”

  Thatcher nodded. “Initiate jump.”

  He’d done it. He’d gotten his people out, for whatever it was worth.

  They’d escaped immediate destruction. But they were also trapped in a region no doubt teeming with pirates who’d come from all over the Cluster to join Degenerate Empire.

  Good Lord. They control an entire region. He had only just begun to process that fact.

  Chapter Eighteen

  New Houston, Oasis Colony

  Freedom System, Dupliss Region

  Earth Year 2290

  The comm on Mittelman’s desk—on Veronica Rose’s desk—lit up blue, indicating his assistant was trying to reach him. Before he could answer, the office doors flew open to reveal a man with short-cropped black hair.

  Kibishii’s COO, Theodore Xu. Looking thoroughly disgruntled.

  As he stood silently in front of Mittelman’s desk, trying to collect himself while visibly vibrating, Mittelman decided that “disgruntled” was likely a gross understatement.

  “Can I help you, Mr. Xu?”

  “They have done it again. Meridian. There’s been another attack.”

  Leaning back, Mittelman resisted the urge to bring a hand to his face and start massaging his eyeballs. He’d hoped for a little more time to prepare for this. “Do you have definitive proof that Meridian was responsible?”

  “Mr. Wills. Surely you must be joking. There is no other company in the north capable of thwarting our stealth detection.”

  “I’m not joking, I’m afraid. When you say Meridian attacked you, I believe you. But that’s irrelevant. Without proof, there’s no way to mount a credible case against them from within the Daybreak Combine’s structure. If you moved against them, it would be considered just as unjustified as the attacks against you.”

  “Screw the Daybreak Combine. This makes three attacks in the last month. It should mean war.”

  Mittelman opened his mouth, then closed it again. Xu was counting the attack the Swan was reported to have suffered while traveling through Dupliss with the New Jersey and nine other Frontier ships.

  “You must help me prepare a counterattack.”

  Almost, Mittelman allowed his annoyance at Xu’s phrasing to show on his face. I must? He placed a hand over his mouth, lest it twist into a sneer. One day, men like Xu would come to realize that there was nothing Hans Mittelman must do.

  “I wish I could honor your request, Mr. Xu. However, I’m unable to authorize an action like that without Ms. Rose’s explicit go-ahead. If it hadn’t been for the unfortunate incident of vandalism last week, we would have a comm unit that would enable us to establish an instant connection with her. As it stands, I’m afraid my hands are tied.” He offered Xu a smile that was calculated to infuriate him. “Again, I wish I could help.”

  Xu’s face took on a pleasingly scarlet shade. “That’s bullshit. Your CEO put you in charge, and we laid out the terms of our partnership at the meeting before she left. She agreed to them. Surely she must have given you the latitude to uphold them.”

  Silent seconds ticked by as Mittelman folded his hands atop the desk and met Xu’s gaze. “I will need more time.”

  “How much?”

  “A month.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  Mittelman offered a slight shrug and said nothing. You have no other options, he wanted to say, but didn’t. When it came to retaliating against Meridian, Kibishii was completely reliant on Frontier, and Xu knew it. Their ships were woefully inadequate for conducting space warfare, a choice their founders made from the beginning, choosing instead to hide in the shadows using stealth tech.

  And look how well that’s worked out for you.

  During an exchange like this one, whoever had the highest tolerance for silence typically won out in the end. This time was no different. At last, Xu’s features twisted into a grimace, and he spun on his heels, marched out of the office, and slammed the heavy oaken door behind him.

  A minute later, the door creaked open and Mittelman’s assistant poked her head inside, looking bashful. “Sorry, Mr. Wills. I tried to make him wait until you were ready to receive him, but he wasn’t about to stop for me.”

  Mittelman smiled affably. “Not to worry, Miriam. I needed something to jolt me awake anyway. I fear I was starting to doze off. A little excitement was exactly what I needed.”

  She smiled, looking relieved. If he were to bet, he would wager Rose drove Miriam hard, and didn’t forgive many lapses. That would explain the woman’s nervousness.

  “Could you come in? I expect there’s something I’ll need you to do momentarily.”

  “Oh,” Miriam squeaked. “Certainly.” She entered fully and closed the door behind her, side-eying a couch next to the entrance. “Should I…?”

  “Yes, by all means. Have a seat.”

  He put his feet up on the desk and stared at the spot where the wall met the ceiling while the pretty assistant sat waiting for his train of thought to arrive at his destination. It helped him to get his thoughts in order, knowing there was someone present who was wholly occupied by him. A strange quirk, but he’d always been that way. The awar
eness of power over another human…it worked an incredible magic for his clarity of thought.

  If Rose were here, she would have already initiated operations to help Kibishii retaliate. Which would have been the most honorable option, no doubt. In helping them repel the Xanthic from New Houston, Kibishii had saved Frontier from abject failure, possibly dissolution as a company. Frontier owed Kibishii whatever help it could give, and if an honorable person were sitting in this chair, they would receive it immediately.

  Unfortunately for Xu, Mittelman sat in the chair. He knew that helping Kibishii now could blow up the entire Daybreak Combine, ending the fledgling super-alliance in a flurry of cascading conflicts.

  There was already plenty of tension to go around. Just yesterday, Mittelman himself had received a demand from the Combine’s leader, Herwin Dirk, that Frontier stop promoting the idea of free space immediately. Apparently some major mining outfits were kicking up a stink about it, afraid that it would represent a major security risk if the idea was widely implemented throughout Combine space, allowing anyone at all to travel through it.

  They were probably right. Mittelman agreed that the idea of free space was incredibly idealistic, not to mention naive. That said, there was something to it. Some golden kernel that, if implemented properly, could birth an entirely new entity. New to the Dawn Cluster, and to humanity in general.

  It was a mere seed of an idea, nothing he could dream of exploiting right now. But he fully intended to keep it in his back pocket.

  Ultimately, Mittelman didn’t give a shit about the Daybreak Combine, except that if it disintegrated, it would leave both Frontier and Oasis naked to anyone who cared to show up and take what they had.

  That wouldn’t serve anyone, least of all him. Not before the proper preparations were made, anyway.

  “Miriam.”

  “Yes, Mr. Wills?”

  “I want you to secure me passage on the next vessel leaving for Kreng Region.”

  She already had her comm out and was tapping away at it. “It appears a merchant freighter is leaving in two hours. Is that too soon?”