She’s looking better.
Rose’s complexion had never had much color to begin with, but in the weeks after the Xanthic gored her on Recept, her skin had taken on a corpse-like pallor. Now she sat at the head of the board room table, looking rosy in comparison as she chatted with Captain Sho.
Her brush with death had scared Thatcher more than he cared to admit. The fact she was the irreplaceable CEO of Frontier, the corp he saw as humanity’s best chance for stabilizing the Dawn Cluster and using it as a power base to fight the Xanthic, accounted for most of that fear. But Recept had helped him to realize that his concern for her extended beyond even that.
Something else to disturb my sleep.
His own skin had looked pale, in the mirror that morning. The lack of sleep was taking its toll, he knew. So was being planetside, away from his ship, as the Jersey underwent extensive repairs in Oasis’ Helio Base Two.
But it was good to see Rose nearly returned to her former good health. And that health showed itself in other ways. An energy that gave her sapphire eyes a keen, but soft focus. The measured cadence of her warm voice. The way she made everyone she spoke to feel like the most important person in the room.
Not him, of course. Her eyes passed over his chair as if he didn’t exist. Except when their jobs required they talk, she’d been ignoring him like this ever since he threatened to resign. He sensed there would be other consequences coming.
That hurt him, more than he cared to admit. Especially given how much he’d come to admire her. But he stood by what he’d said.
Rose’s hands still bore a slight tremor, and some days she looked more fatigued than others. But she soldiered through, with as much grit as any in her employ.
They love her. Everyone here seemed to, just as she said his crew loved him. She shone with a calm passion that infected those around her. And after she’d nearly died saving Major Avery, as far as the men and women who fought for her were concerned, she could do no wrong.
As was his custom, Mittelman arrived for the meeting last. Thatcher watched the way his eyes darted at Rose, a smile curling his lips and slipping away the instant she returned her gaze to Sho. He met Thatcher’s eyes, no doubt saw the hardness there, and refocused on his seat, striding toward it.
Thatcher’s grandfather had always said he was quick to judge. Either way, his instincts had told him to distrust Mittelman from the moment they’d met.
Frontier’s CEO rose slowly to her feet. Even now, she still did most things slowly, taking the physical weakness of her recovery and turning it into gravitas.
“Gentlemen. We have two choices.”
The chatter around the table died off at once, as though the board room was an airlock whose atmosphere had been expelled. The attendance was identical to the meeting that had precipitated the mission to Lacuna, with the exception of Simon Moll’s absence. They would have invited him to attend remotely, except that no one had been able to reach him since before Thatcher had returned to Freedom System.
Rose’s gaze swept the room like a laser. “Two choices,” she repeated. “We can live in a north controlled by criminals or we can fight to liberate it.”
A quiet cough drew everyone’s attention to Mittelman, sitting three seats down from Rose’s left. “If I may. I would submit that it’s too early to oppose Daybreak Combine.”
Both Theodore Xu and Fujio Sho shifted in their seats, looking somewhat receptive to Mittelman’s comment.
Still, they’re torn. They had been agitating to take the fight to Meridian, after all, and this was their chance.
Rose’s eyes were locked on her spymaster’s, not looking quite as soft anymore. To his credit, he didn’t flinch.
“You’re right,” she said at last, with a slight nod. “It is too early. If we choose today to make war on the Combine, we will be grossly outnumbered. Twenty to one, at least. And yet, I called you here today to talk war.”
That weighty syllable settled over the board room. Thatcher noted the four board members’ reactions, which ranged from nervous to optimistic. War could mean spoils, and new business opportunities. Or it could mean complete ruin.
“I refuse to engage in a policy of appeasement.” The CEO’s mouth twisted with distaste as she spoke the phrase policy of appeasement. “If we accept things as they are now—with pirates and criminals in charge of governing and protecting hundreds of millions of people, most of them civilians—then it will weaken our position to suddenly start opposing them later.
“Herwin Dirk has chosen to align with the same pirates who attacked both us and the people we’re charged with protecting.” Rose shook her head. “I can’t support that. Not for a second. I refuse to let the Dawn Cluster take this shape. And using instant comms, we can bring others to our side.
“Corps all over the Cluster will oppose this tyranny, mark my words. That includes corps based inside Combine territory, who find themselves living under the thumb of criminals. They will likely be too afraid to oppose them…unless we oppose them first. If Frontier Security and Kibishii stand up, we will become lightning rods for all those currently choking on pirate rule. It looks daunting right now, but I tell you: we can win this.”
Rose finished her speech and waited. But no one offered a reply to her words, in either rebuttal or support. Everyone, it seemed, was waiting for someone else to speak.
So Thatcher pushed back his chair, rose to his feet, and faced Rose, saluting her.
Seconds later, across the table, Fujio Sho did the same.
One by one, all around the room, they rose, the military personnel saluting. Rose returned their salute, a small smile blossoming on her lips.
Mittelman stood last. “We’re with you, Ms. Rose.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Aboard the Triumph
Galliot System, The Splay Region
Earth Year 2290
“Steady as she goes, Somerton. Maintain tight formation with our friends.” Captain Frederick Wilson nodded at the big holoscreen, where those friends were arrayed—every warship Frontier and Kibishii could afford to bring without leaving their home fronts completely exposed. “We’re holding good cards here, so let’s play them better than you played that three-of-a-kind last night.”
A round of chuckles from every station. Not for the first time, Thatcher blinked, unsure what to think or feel about the atmosphere in Captain Wilson’s CIC.
Admiral Wilson, it should have been, except that he’d come out of a contented retirement on Oasis to fight for Frontier. Rose had offered him command of the entire operation, but he insisted on being given just one ship—on being a ship captain. “Why go to work for the private sector if you don’t take advantage of the liberties that affords?” he said. “Besides, I miss my captaining days.”
Thatcher had followed Admiral Wilson’s career since he was a teenager, when the man had been Captain Wilson, star of the British Royal Space Fleet and the bane of pirates all over Earth Local Space. He’d risen to the rank of admiral, then switched to running ops for a private military firm somewhere in the Cluster’s south before easing into retirement on Oasis. Every Spacer knew Wilson’s name. Almost every spacer revered him.
After today, some of that reverence would turn to fear. His decision to fight against a budding pirate empire didn’t hold much surprise for Thatcher. What did surprise him was Wilson’s style of command.
He’d been given the Triumph, whose previous captain had gladly switched to an armored cruiser, bumping the cruiser’s captain down to XO. That captain, too, had accepted the demotion with a smile. To have Wilson in the fight, everyone was willing to make room.
No such room had been made for Thatcher while the New Jersey underwent repairs, and he thought he knew why. Rose was still figuring out what to do with him. She said that the fact he’d been acting as a fleet commander could eventually prove problematic for the chain of command, and she needed to determine what role he would play going forward. But he suspected that his threat to
resign played no small part in her decision not to give him a ship for this engagement.
He’d been brooding about sitting out perhaps the most important engagement to take place in the Cluster so far when his comm had buzzed with a call from Admiral—Captain—Wilson.
“I want you in my CIC when we hit Freya Station,” the gravelly voice had said, crackling a little as it came over the line.
It had taken all of Thatcher’s will not to fall over his words. To help with that, he kept his answer short. “Why?”
“In an advisory capacity. I’ve been following you, Thatcher, and I like what I see. You seem to understand how things are set to go down in the Cluster, better than anyone else. It would be a crime to leave you sitting in Freedom while we’re deep inside The Splay having fun.”
And so here he sat, strapped into one of the observation seats at the back of his childhood hero’s CIC. Wilson twisted in the captain’s chair, flashing him a thumbs-up. Thatcher smiled and arranged his fingers in the foreign-feeling configuration.
He’d always imagined Wilson in command would be the same version journalists had encountered when they interviewed him. Stern—severe, even—and no-nonsense. Just as Thatcher’s grandfather had always been.
Thatcher had spent his career emulating that perception of what made for a good leader. When he brought his people into battle, the air seemed to crackle with tension. He’d always assumed that was just the nature of military engagements…but now he was beginning to suspect it might have more to do with his leadership style. He resisted that notion, since it would mean Rose may have been right to question him about it. But here Wilson was, reinforcing what she’d said.
Wilson joked around with his subordinates. Treated them almost as equals, and trusted them to do their jobs without guiding their every move. In turn, every officer in the CIC seemed relaxed, carrying out their assigned roles with admirable fluidity.
Things aboard the Triumph were by no means lax. The determination to carry out the mission flawlessly was palpable, bolstered by the energetic pep talk Wilson had delivered before battle, as though he was pumping up football players before a big game.
Indeed, the men and women aboard the destroyer—not just in the CIC, but throughout the entire ship—seemed to perform with more effectiveness for Wilson’s light touch.
Thatcher wasn’t sure he could ever be Wilson. But he also couldn’t stop the memory of Guerrero’s panic attack from playing in his mind on repeat.
“How are we looking to you, Commander?” Wilson had turned toward him again, gesturing toward the holotank as he spoke.
Thatcher cleared his throat. “The Lancer looks like she’s straying. Much farther, and she’ll risk exposure to turret batteries we can’t effectively target. I’d also move the eWar squad closer to the rear.”
The admiral turned to the holotank, then nodded. “Yes.” He sighed theatrically. “Eventually, we’ll get it through to these knucklehead captains your boss hired that spreading out is only a good idea against other warships. Not an asteroid bristling with railguns.”
Thatcher coughed to cover up laughter. Did Wilson really just say that out loud?
“Good call on the eWar ships, too. We don’t have a prayer of jamming the turrets, with sensors covering the station. Unless we go omnidirectional, which kind of defeats the purpose of attacking. Might as well keep them pulled back and protected. Ops, send transmissions to that effect, will you? Make sure to tell them my recommendations come from the commander. They’re more likely to take him seriously than a washed-up spacer like me.”
Take me more seriously than the Admiral Wilson? Thatcher had no idea what to say to that, or to think about it for that matter. Yes, the chain of command could get a little foggy in the private sector, but having an admiral ask his opinion, even defer to him…it felt wrong.
The Frontier ships entered maximum firing range, and primary lasers flashed across the void, playing across the turrets that coughed solid-core iron rounds back at them.
Freya Station had been constructed in a hollowed-out asteroid, and her exterior was all shipyard. It was a major hub for constructing, servicing, and repairing starships owned by northern corps, many of them private military firms. Most important of all, the station was jointly owned and operated by Meridian and Paragon Industries—Herwin Dirk’s corp—and many of the ships docked there belonged to them.
If Frontier had wanted to destroy the station, they could have sat back and rained down Hellborns. But wholesale nuking didn’t make for great PR, and today was as much about propaganda as it was about war.
They planned to reduce civilian casualties as much as possible. Still, Thatcher knew that some would die. There never had been a bloodless war. They would have to hope their cause was just enough to make it worth it.
Even with this somewhat restrained approach, it didn’t take long to neutralize every turret threatening the Frontier-Kibishii force. Freya Station’s defenses simply weren’t designed to withstand a fleet this size, and the attacking ships took minimal damage.
Once they’d removed those hazards, shuttles launched. Mostly from the accompanying Kibishii troop ships, but some from Frontier ships. Thatcher thought of Major Avery and his people, wondering just how pissed off they were to be left lounging on Oasis.
Enjoy it, he willed across light years to them. There’ll be plenty more of this to come.
Days ago, Wilson had run his battle plan by Thatcher: keep their ships close, remove every turret in range from the board, and pour marines through the gap they created. From inside, they could override every turret on the station. Then, they could take the warships docked all over it, in various stages of construction or repair.
Other than a few minor alterations, Thatcher hadn’t had any changes to suggest. “It’s exactly what I would do.”
The admiral had nodded. “Good.”
The Ops officer leaned back from his console. “We have warships moving toward us from all over the system, sir. Some from Meridian and Paragon, and plenty from other corps.”
Wilson nodded. “Nothing we didn’t expect.”
Thatcher focused on his breathing, eyes glued to the holotank. This deep in what had just become enemy territory, retreat would eventually become a necessity as more hostile ships showed up to confront them. The timing of that retreat was everything. It would make the difference between a significant victory and an utter rout.
But over the subsequent hours, the mission continued to go off without a hitch. The marines succeeded in shutting down Freya Station’s remaining defenses, and then more shuttles launched, this time filled with the extra crews Frontier and Kibishii had brought with them. Based on information that had been procured by Mittelman, those shuttles went straight for the station’s spaceworthy ships, ignoring the others. What few repairs remained to be performed on the ships they took could be completed back in Freedom.
The first wave of hostile ships was repelled handily. Five of them were neutralized in quick succession, and the rest fell back, scattering in all directions as ravening lasers hurried them on their way.
Then, they moved toward the next target: the twelve Helio Bases that Paragon Industries maintained around the system’s third planet, Icaco.
As the onslaught continued, Veronica Rose’s voice and likeness was broadcast throughout the system by every Frontier and Kibishii ship. At that same moment, Thatcher knew her message would be going out to every instant comm unit in the Dawn Cluster, where it would spread across system intranets. Before the day was over, she would be heard by all but the most disconnected Cluster dwellers.
This time, at the urging of her executives, Rose herself had remained on Oasis. The fact she’d seen the wisdom in that gave Thatcher hope that maybe their conversation about risk had had some effect. Either way, he suspected an even more secure location might soon be needed.
Despite her absence, Rose’s broadcast had a real-time feel to it. She’d sent techs to edit in footage of Frontier and
Kibishii ships advancing on Freya Station, but without any shots of them actually firing. It probably wouldn’t help their cause to actually show a Frontier ship firing the first shot of the war that would soon embroil the north.
“The Dawn Cluster is a ship at sea,” Rose said from Thatcher’s comm, her words solemn and soft, accompanied by the stately advance of Frontier warships. “And a ship whose crew won’t cooperate is lost. But this crew doesn’t simply refuse to work together. It makes war on one another—all while storm clouds darken the horizon.
“I have just returned from the Lacuna Region, where my warships faced a Xanthic fleet that outnumbered them four-to-one.”
In the broadcast, the Frontier ships approaching Freya Station were replaced by the battle group Thatcher had commanded, with the alien armada arrayed against them over the Planet Recept. This time, the techs did show fighting—lasers crisscrossing the battlespace as the human crews fought to buy time for the planetside marines.
“Frontier is an American company, but we stand for humanity. All of humanity. And so, when we detected a threat to the entire Dawn Cluster—a storm threatening to sink our ship—we organized to face it down.”
Thatcher knew Rose had wanted to include how the Xanthic fleet seemed to be the same one that had attacked Earth fifty years ago, but most of her communications specialists had advised against it. It was too complicated in a speech meant to move human hearts, and anyway, that information could be distributed in supplementary materials.
The footage of the battle over Recept vanished to reveal Veronica Rose sitting at her desk, leaning over her clasped hands and staring at the camera with restrained intensity.
“We have repelled the Xanthic, at least for the time being, and we have returned, only to find that the CEO of Paragon Industries, Herwin Dirk, has undone the good work of so many by throwing in his lot with pirates. In doing so, he apparently thinks he can drag the entire Daybreak Combine along with him into this unholy alliance.
“His actions have endangered the entire Cluster. But we need not be party to them. If Herwin Dirk wants to be a pirate, he will be treated like one. And so I call on everyone who can hear me to join Frontier Security in the fight to return the north to the free and safe haven it was so close to becoming.
Free Space Page 20