Shadow of Victory

by David Weber

  Just our luck to be passing through, the TAC officer thought glumly. Three more days and we’d’ve been out of here. But, no!

  Harpist and the destroyer Reaper had only stopped off en route to the Lucas System to pick up their new missiles because Captain Astrid Caspari, the senior officer permanently assigned to the Kumang System, had gone to the Academy with Bretton Ibañez, Harpist’s CO. They were an entire week ahead on their scheduled movement orders, so Ibañez had seen no reason not to stop off for a two or three-day visit with his old classmate. But now…

  Stedman inhaled deeply and pressed the stud on the arm of his chair.

  “Abbott,” a voice growled in his earbug.

  “Sir,” Stedman told Harpist’s executive officer, “I think you’d better come to the bridge.”

  * * *

  “So what do you make of it, Chiara?” Captain Aldus O’Brien asked. He and Commander Chiara Marciano, his tactical officer, stood gazing at the master display in HMS Trebuchet’s CIC.

  “Well, if I had to guess from the station-keeping emissions, I’d say this”—she indicated the slightly larger, brighter icon in orbit around the system’s inhabited planet—“is a cruiser. Probably a heavy cruiser; we’ll know more when the optical platforms and active sensors get a better look at her. This other one, though—she’s definitely a War Harvest.”

  “Think they have anything else trying to imitate holes in space?”

  “Doubt it, Skip.” Marciano shook her head. “I think we caught them flat-footed. In fact, I’m willing to bet they didn’t even have their impellers at standby. We sure don’t see any—”

  She broke off for a moment, pressing her earbug with an index finger while she listened, then turned and grinned—positively grinned—up at her much taller captain.

  “The closest Ghost Rider bird just picked up first-stage initiation. They were sitting there with cold nodes.”

  “Well, wasn’t that considerate of them,” O’Brien murmured.

  He stood gazing at the display, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, for several seconds. Then he looked back at Marciano.

  “Let’s take this to the bridge,” he said.

  The two of them headed for the intra-ship car, which delivered them less than a minute later to the Saganami-C-class heavy cruiser’s bridge.

  “Captain is on the bridge!” the quartermaster of the watch announced as the doors slid open, and people popped to their feet.

  “As you were,” O’Brien said, striding briskly towards the command chair which was currently occupied by Commander Darren Boyd, his executive officer. Boyd rose as O’Brien approached, and the captain settled into the chair.

  “I have the ship,” he said.

  “Aye, Sir. You have the ship,” Boyd acknowledged, and O’Brien gave him a brief nod, then looked at Lieutenant Commander Yaeko Yoshihara.

  “Run me some numbers, Yaeko. Assume this fellow spotted us the instant we crossed the alpha wall. He’s got cold nodes, he’s, say, a Kutuzov-class heavy cruiser, and his engineers get his nodes online in Book time. Where do we run him down and when do we bring him into missile range?”

  “Just a sec, Skipper,” the astrogator replied.

  She punched in numbers, then looked over her shoulder at her captain.

  “Assuming he gets them up forty minutes after we crossed the wall, we’ll be up to approximately one-eight-point-seven thousand KPS and one-one-point-six light-minutes from the planet when he does. If we maintain pursuit at our present acceleration for another hundred and thirty-five minutes, we’ll have a zero-range intercept. Of course, at that point we’d be traveling at damned near twice his velocity: seven-six-point-six thousand KPS compared to four-three-point-eight. We’d have the range for the Mark 23s in roughly twenty minutes before that, given the velocity differential at launch. And at that point, they’d still be over twenty light-minutes short of the hyper limit.”

  * * *

  One good thing about starting with cold nodes, Bretton Ibañez reflected grimly. It gave me time to get back aboard before we started running. Not that running’s going to do one damned bit of good in the end.

  In truth, he knew the extra forty-one minutes it had taken to bring up Harpist’s impellers wouldn’t have made any difference, either. Even if she’d been sitting there at full readiness and started accelerating at maximum military power the instant she’d detected the intruders, they’d still have run her down short of the hyper limit. The delay had only shortened the agony.

  By the time she’d started accelerating, six of the newcomers had already attained a closing velocity of over 18,000 KPS; the other seven had been up to only 12,000 KPS, and from the accel curves, it looked like at least one of the potential “battlecruisers” was actually a merchant ship. That was the good news. The bad news was that although they hadn’t identified themselves, they were obviously Manties, since the six chasing him were pulling an acceleration of over seven hundred and twenty gravities in a ship that had to mass a half million tons. No one else in the galaxy could do that. And that acceleration gave them an advantage of almost two KPS2, so even after Harpist got underway, her enemies’ velocity advantage had actually increased steadily.

  So it was only a matter of—

  “Captain.”

  The voice belonged to Lieutenant Addison Faust, his communications officer, and Ibañez felt something tighten inside. Odd. He wouldn’t have believed he could get any more tense.

  “Yes, Addison?”

  Another surprise. His voice actually sounded calm.

  “Sir, I have a transmission for you. It’s from a Captain O’Brien of the Royal Manticoran Navy.”

  “What a surprise,” Ibañez said dryly. Then he squared his shoulders. “Put it on my display.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  A face appeared on Ibañez’s com display. It belonged to a tall, chunky fellow with sandy-brown hair, hazel eyes, and a luxuriant mustache who wore the black and gold of the Star Empire of Manticore.

  “I am Captain Aldus O’Brien, Royal Manticoran Navy, commanding Her Majesty’s Ship Trebuchet,” he said coldly. “I’m also the senior officer of Task Group Ten-Two-Eight, and my orders are to take or destroy any Solarian naval units in this star system. Be advised that you are now in range of my missiles.”

  Despite himself, Ibañez felt his face tighten. It had almost certainly turned pale, as well, he thought. If O’Brien was telling the truth, his missiles had a range of over thirty-six million kilometers! It was true the Manties had built their overtake velocity advantage to over 30,000 KPS, which would boost their effective range significantly, but even so—!

  “I realize you may doubt whether or not you are, indeed, in my range envelope. Accordingly—”

  “Missile launch!” Lieutenant Commander Stedman said suddenly. “One missile closing at an overtake of one-three-six KPS squared!”

  Ibañez watched the display as the single missile icon streaked after his ship. It accelerated fiercely, but it also had thirty-six million kilometers to go. The impellers on a Javelin, the SLN’s latest missile, would burn out three minutes after launch, which would have given an effective envelope of just under eight million kilometers from that geometry. It could still have caught Harpist, assuming no radical course changes on her part, but its overtake velocity when it did would have been down to a mere 5,000 KPS and it would have long since gone ballistic. That would have made it dead meat for point defense, nor would it have been able to execute any terminal attack maneuver to bring its laserhead to bear, which would have made the chance of actually hitting the ship nonexistent. But this wasn’t a Solarian missile, and his stomach turned into a hollow, singing void as it went on accelerating at 46,000 KPS2.

  The Javelin’s acceleration was actually seven percent higher than that…but this missile accelerated effortlessly past the hundred eighty second-mark where a Javelin’s drive would have failed. Four minutes. Five minutes. Six minutes. Seven minutes.

  He felt his jaw clamping harder
and harder in something very like horror. He felt the tension—the fear—of his bridge crew as that incredible missile just kept coming for them. And then, nine impossible minutes after launch, it streaked directly past Harpist—still under power, still able to execute its final attack maneuvers—and detonated harmlessly a hundred and fifty thousand kilometers ahead of her.

  “You have ten minutes to reverse acceleration at four hundred gravities and prepare to surrender,” Aldous O’Brien said from his com. “In eleven minutes, we begin firing for effect.”

  * * *

  “—and I most strongly protest this naked aggression against the innocent people of the Kumang System!” System Administrator Luis Verner said firmly. “Whatever your quarrel with the Solarian League, there can be no justification for the invasion and subjugation of a neutral star nation.”

  “Odd,” Aldus O’Brien mused, gazing at the man on his com display. “That never seems to bother Frontier Security when it invades and subjugates neutral star systems. Of course, we’re only interested in liberating them—although, I will admit that swatting any Solarian Navy ships we come across is a worthwhile accomplishment in its own right—whereas OFS specializes in handing them over to one Solly transstellar or another.” He pursed his lips and arched an eyebrow. “I’m only an ignorant neobarb, of course, but could you please go back and explain the bit that makes Solarian invasions legitimate, highly principled exercises in beneficent nation-building and our invasions unjust, imperialistic conquests? Something seems to have gotten lost in transmission.”

  Trebuchet was 6,723,000 kilometers from Chotěboř, decelerating steadily towards the planet while the ex-SLN prizes Harpist and Reaper followed at their own best acceleration with four Roland-class destroyers to keep them company. Now O’Brien waited out the twenty-second transmission delay and then watched Verner’s face darken. The Solarian’s jaw tightened visibly, and O’Brien wondered if the man was going to spontaneously combust, explode, or just melt.

  “Obviously,” the system administrator grated finally, “I’m not going to dignify that farcical, self-serving mischaracterization with a response. But while it’s painfully evident you have sufficient brute force to do whatever you wish in this star system, I am serving formal notice that the people of Kumang are under the protection of the Solarian League. I caution you that any outrages, any assaults on person or property in this star system, will lead to the most serious repercussions for you personally and the entire Star Empire of Manticore!”

  “I stand cautioned,” O’Brien said sardonically. “And I have no intention of assaulting any person or property in Kumang, unless it happens to belong to the Solarian League. In which case, of course, it becomes a legitimate military target, and I suppose it’s unbecoming to admit it, but in that case I will take intense personal satisfaction in blowing it into very tiny pieces.”

  He leaned back to let that settle in for several seconds, then continued.

  “I’ll enter Chotěboř orbit in approximately twenty-three minutes. If I were you, I’d start packing, Mister System Administrator. I think you’re likely to be out of a job very shortly.” He smiled brightly. “Have a nice day.”

  * * *

  “Mr. Sabatino is here, Mister President,” Květa Tonová said, opening the door to the magnificently furnished Růžová Office in the Presidential Mansion. She stood aside, and Karl-Heinz Sabatino walked past her into the office which had once been Jan Cabrnoch’s, his expression tense.

  “Karl-Heinz.” Adam Šiml rose and stepped around his desk to offer his hand. “Thank you for coming so promptly.”

  “It seems like a good day for doing things promptly,” Sabatino replied with a strained smile as Vice President Vilušínský shook his hand as well.

  “I know,” Šiml said. “Please, sit down.” He glanced at the longtime secretary who’d followed him into the Presidential Mansion. “Květa, please have coffee sent in. We may be here a while.”

  “Of course, Mister President,” she murmured, and withdrew.

  Sabatino settled into the indicated chair, and Šiml and Vilušínský sat facing him across a stone-topped coffee table.

  “I asked you to come to the Mansion today, Karl-Heinz,” the President said after a moment, “because of what’s happening to the Frontier Security presence here in the system. System Administrator Verner hasn’t kept me informed as to his communications with the Manticorans. He probably has a lot on his mind at the moment. They haven’t communicated directly with me yet, either, but I’m sure they will, and I’ll be very surprised if they permit any official Solarian presence in Kumang going forward.”

  “Frogmore-Wellington and Iwahara Interstellar are private entities, not affiliated with the League government in any way,” Sabatino pointed out.

  “Forgive me,” Šiml said, “but we both know that’s a polite fiction, given their…cordial relations with the Office of Frontier Security, not just here but in other star systems, as well. More to the point, the Manticorans know that. As I say, however, I’m not privy to their communications with Verner, so as of this moment, I’m in no position to speak to what their intentions may be vis-à-vis Frogmore-Wellington or Iwahara. In fact, that’s not why I asked you to come here.”

  “No?” Sabatino glanced back and forth between the two Chotěbořans. “Then why did you invite me?”

  “To tell you it’s over,” Šiml said, and his voice was suddenly, deeply gentle, almost compassionate.

  “Over?” Sabatino frowned. “What do you mean ‘over’?”

  “I mean we’re taking back our star system,” Šiml continued in that gentle voice. “I mean that as of today, the power to make decisions that affect the people of Chotěboř will be in Chotěbořian hands once again. And that we’re not giving it back to Frontier Security, the Solarian League…or you.”

  Sabatino sat back in his chair, his expression suddenly masklike.

  “When I first accepted your financial backing, I saw you as only one more leech—one more komár—sucking the life out of my star system,” Šiml told him. “And in many ways, that’s exactly what you are. But I’ve come to know you better since then, and I saw your reaction during the Velehrad Riots, when Cabrnoch turned the Safeties loose. I pushed the limits with you, deliberately, when I suspended DORA and began reinstituting political freedom here on Chotěboř, and you not only didn’t protest but actually seemed to understand that kind of reform was necessary. I never doubted that you’d try to put the brakes on if I started openly threatening the financial interests you represent, but I suppose that’s your job. And while I’m not remotely prepared to nominate you for sainthood, I’ve come to realize you’re a man who takes doing his job seriously.”

  He paused, and the office was very, very quiet.

  “I don’t like the avarice and greed you represent, Karl-Heinz, and I find it difficult to excuse the support you gave Cabrnoch—and Verner—when it came to erecting Jan’s police state. Or for maintaining it, after it was in place. But the truth is that Cabrnoch was homegrown. He was a Chotěbořian problem, one which arose out of our own response to a system-wide disaster. Without Frontier Security—and you—he could never have retained power as long as he did or hurt so many people while he did, but you didn’t create him. You only used him, and from what I’ve seen in the last few T-months, I think you’ve become steadily—and honestly, I believe—less and less happy about that.

  “I have no doubt the Manticorans are going to want to speak to the government of Kumang once they’ve entered Chotěboř orbit and finished their business with Mr. Verner. Thanks to you, I’m the head of that government, and about fifteen minutes before you arrived at the Mansion, General Siminetti was placed under arrest and I accepted Daniel Kápička’s resignation.” Šiml smiled briefly. “I have to say, in some ways, Daniel was actually relieved. I think he’s been having a few qualms since the Velehrad Riots, himself.

  “I’ve also ordered the stand-down of the CPSF, and armed members of Sokol are
securing control of Public Safety’s equipment depots and nodal offices at this moment. It’s my hope that there won’t be any violence, whether of Safeties trying to resist our people or of our people seeking vengeance on the Safeties outside the law. I assure you that if there are any instances of either of those, they will be punished. And when I do speak to the Manticoran commander, I intend to inform him that the Kumang System desires cordial relations with the Star Empire, invite him to regard our star system as a friendly neutral in any future operations, suggest that the independent system of Kumang would welcome any security detachment he might wish to leave stationed here, and”—his eyes narrowed ever so slightly—“inform him that we will gladly welcome future Manticoran investment.

  “Which brings me back to you.”

  “How?” Sabatino asked tersely.

  “While you’re certainly guilty of bribery, corruption, graft, and any number of other criminal offenses under the letter of Chotěbořian law, and while I strongly suspect you approved of Cabrnoch’s tactics for suppressing the Náměstí Žlutých Růží demonstrations, I don’t think of you as an evil man. For that matter, I think it could be legitimately argued that all your actions were approved—or at least knowingly tolerated—by the closest thing Chotěboř had to a legal government. And the truth is that I’ve genuinely come to regard you as a friend, which I never expected to happen. Moreover, whatever I may think of the circumstances under which Frogmore-Wellington and Iwahara acquired their leases here in Kumang, they never actually violated the law in doing so. I think you’re intelligent enough to admit that even if they acted legally they still acted immorally, and we both know laws enacted by corrupt people are themselves corrupt. But the fact remains that those leases were legally granted—and signed—by President Hruška under the auspices of the Office of Frontier Security and ratified by President Cabrnoch when he assumed office.