* * *
• • •
In orbit well above where Lochan, Freya, and the others sat debating the meaning of words and the symbolism of actions, Commander Bard Hubbard paused on the way to the bridge of the destroyer once named the Jose Silva in Earth Fleet. Now the ship was the Caladbolg, and she and her officers and crew followed the orders of the government of Eire. When the Jose Silva was decommissioned as part of the general shutdown of Earth Fleet, it hadn’t been a hard decision to accept an offer of employment from a far-off new colony. Jobs weren’t easy to find on tired, crowded Old Earth, especially in specialties like those of fleet sailors, whereas places such as Eire promised new worlds, fresh air and land and water, and countless opportunities for the future.
No, it hadn’t been a difficult decision to come out here and bring his family with him to live on the beautiful, green world the Caladbolg orbited. Even at times like this when the government of Eire was demanding the destroyer be ready for instant action, but not betray any signs of being ready for instant action.
He’d spoken a few times with Commander Miko Sori on Benten’s destroyer Asahi, catching up on personal as well as professional matters. Even though they’d known each other in Earth Fleet, she hadn’t revealed much of whatever her orders were, but he had the sense her ship had also recently been told to be ready for anything.
It had something to do with the battles raging deeper into space, Hubbard guessed. He wondered if his ship would finally see the combat it had been designed for. The idea both excited and worried him, because for all the confidence he had in his crew, he knew all too well how easily even the simplest things could go wrong.
“Captain Hubbard, please contact the bridge.”
Hubbard tapped the nearest wall comm. “What’s up?”
“Sir, the Chief Engineer wanted us to inform you that a major software update for the power core is being uploaded. She’s not anticipating any problems but there may be some minor power fluctuations.”
“Understood,” Hubbard said. “Keep me informed if—”
An alarm blared, cutting off his last words. Caladbolg shuddered as pumps, fans, and other equipment abruptly jolted all over the ship. Hubbard heard the subsiding whine of fans shutting down and knew circuit breakers had tripped. “Bridge! What the hell’s going on?”
“Major power core fluctuations, sir! Chief Engineer thinks the software was sabotaged! She’s initiating emergency manual shutdown!”
Hubbard heard another sound, a vibration running through the structure of his ship like the spasms of a badly wounded animal. The power core, running out of control. If the Chief Engineer didn’t manage a shutdown within the next few seconds, Caladbolg and her entire crew would die a spectacular death.
CHAPTER 7
Under the light of Glenlyon’s star, the barracuda shape of the destroyer Saber moved through space a mere light second from the three enemy ships heading for the planet’s orbital facility. The enemy ships would reach that facility in two more hours. And Saber couldn’t stop them.
“We managed to trick the enemy light cruiser into expending three of its four missiles, but that’s all we could do,” Rob Geary said. He was in his stateroom, sending a private update to the government on a situation that he couldn’t change for the better but could easily make even worse. “We’ve run all feasible attacks through simulations. Under every possible outcome we might manage to score some damage on the freighter, but the odds of causing enough damage to prevent it from continuing on are extremely small. Measured against that, Saber would take fire from both enemy warships, and would almost certainly suffer serious damage as a result. If Saber is eliminated, the enemy warships could remain at Glenlyon indefinitely, receiving new supplies of fuel cells and food. If Saber remains a threat, we can prevent any resupply from being carried out. The only way to maintain the chance of a better outcome is to avoid combat at this time, await a possible mistake by the enemy, and hope that our defenders on the orbital facility can hold out until the enemy is forced to withdraw in order to resupply. I make this decision with great difficulty, but it is the only decision I believe offers any hope under the current circumstances.” Rob hesitated. “If ordered to attack regardless, I will do so, but I must be sure the government understands the very small chance of success and the very high probability that will result in the loss of Saber and the loss of any chance to save our orbital facility. Pending further orders I will maintain my ship close enough to the enemy warships to hinder their freedom of action and to be able to strike if a favorable opportunity arises. Geary, out.”
The message ended, he sat back, staring at the tangle of conduits, ducts, and wiring attached to the overhead.
The ping announcing the arrival of an incoming message broke through his dark thoughts.
Ninja gazed out of his display, looking haggard and doing nothing for his peace of mind. “Hey, love. Not a lot of progress yet. The bad guys are staying tight, not offering me any new openings. That’s going to change once they start assaulting the orbital facility. They’ll have to start firing up a lot of networks then, and that’ll give me the shots I need.”
His wife grimaced. “We’re doing okay down here. Hiding in the woods like we were kids playing Robin Hood. The kids think that’s great. The teens are old enough to know how serious the game is, though, and they’ve been stepping up. Little Ninja is doing fine. She thinks it’s the best camping trip ever, especially since I told her she gets to play sys admin and jump on anyone using anything but landline links.”
Despite everything, Rob smiled. Trust Ninja to teach their little girl to monitor system security. Little Ninja was already probably better at it than most of the adult hackers on the planet.
“Rob, I know you’re going to think of some crazy idea to save the day. Don’t do it.” Lyn sighed, shaking her head. “We need you. So . . . come home safe. See you later. Bye for now.”
That was depressing.
“Captain?” Lieutenant Commander Vicki Shen stuck her head around the corner of the hatch. “Anything new?”
“No,” Rob said. “Just some personal mail. How’s the crew doing?”
“Same as before. Itching to do something, despite knowing it’d be suicide.” Shen leaned against the side of the hatch. “Don’t worry about that. I’m the executive officer, so I get to tell the crew they have to keep working and not have any fun.”
“Just out of curiosity, what’s Earth Fleet doctrine in this situation?”
“You’re doing it,” she said.
“I am? Seriously?” In Rob’s experience, Earth Fleet doctrine had been both rigid and rarely useful in any practical circumstances.
“Yeah.” Shen jogged her head in the general direction of the enemy. “We can’t win if we exchange fire with those guys, so Earth Fleet doctrine would call for avoiding such a fight and waiting until the enemy is either forced to retire or reinforcements arrive to help you out. Captain, I know just hanging here in the same relative position while they close on Glenlyon is tough, but we’ve done what we can. You know that if we burn through our fuel cells making more feints at them in the hopes they’ll react in a really stupid way, we’ll run out of fuel before they do. And then our people on that facility won’t have any chance at all.”
Rob brought up an outside image on his display. At a light second’s distance, or about three hundred thousand kilometers, the three enemy warships were just tiny dots on an unmagnified view. They were still on a curving path through the star system, heading for an intercept with the planet Glenlyon as it swept in orbit about its star. “Even if we win,” he murmured, “I’m going to be the guy who didn’t do anything while the enemy ships attacked the orbital facility.”
“Sir?” Shen shook her head. “You’re doing the right thing. The only right thing. Anything else would be a mistake.”
“That’s not how it’ll look, is it?” Rob ex
haled heavily. “I wonder how many commanders in similar circumstances throughout history have staged a hopeless attack simply to show they were doing something? Because it would make them look better, even though what they were doing would make things worse?”
“You’re not going to—”
“No,” Rob assured his executive officer. “I’m not going to sacrifice Saber and her crew and Glenlyon’s chance of winning this fight just to make myself look better. But I never realized how hard something like this could be, to have to sit and wait, knowing how that’ll look to everyone who doesn’t have the responsibility that I have.”
Shen frowned, running one hand through her hair. “Every officer on this ship will testify that you did the only thing that could’ve saved the situation.”
“That won’t matter,” Rob said. “Thanks, though.”
“It’s not right that you have to choose between sacrificing yourself and your career or failing in your duty!” Vicki Shen looked away, her jaw tight. “If some important equipment breaks, you wouldn’t be able to attack no matter how much you wanted to.”
“Giving me a perfect excuse for not acting that everyone could understand? No,” Rob said. “We’re not going to fake that. Everything I’m doing now is right and legal. Lying about the material state of the ship would be misconduct. This is my job. My responsibility. I’m going to accept whatever consequences come from doing what I should do.”
She didn’t answer for several seconds, her gaze still averted. “Are you trying to get fired?”
After Shen had left, Rob stared at his display. Was he trying to get fired? This wasn’t a job he wanted, after all. He hated having lives riding on his decisions. He hated being away from his family while they faced danger.
But he wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was doing this damned job as best he could. He was trying to salvage a nearly hopeless situation, knowing that he’d probably get a medal for doing any number of wrong things, and probably catch hell for doing what seemed the only right thing.
If they wanted to fire him for that he could walk off this ship with a clear conscience.
Yet as Rob looked at the enemy ships closing steadily on their intercept with the world of Glenlyon and its orbital facility, he didn’t feel either right or happy. Angry, frustrated, impotent. All those. But not happy with the only choice he felt he could make and still keep faith with those he commanded and his own duty.
* * *
• • •
The light of the sun that shone on the world of Kosatka felt blinding to Carmen Ochoa after so many days spent in inner rooms, venturing forth only in the dark. The last time she’d spent any time outside during the day had been during her visit to see the First Minister, and even most of that trip had involved being indoors either with the First Minister or later with Dominic. The idea that she’d become a creature of the night both amused and upset her.
Being out during the day did remind her of that trip, though. Of the long periods in which she and Domi had avoided asking each other questions whose answers were likely to be unpleasant. He’d heard the rumors about men and women with prosthetics being sent into combat, and though he laughed off the way he’d jumped up the priority list for a new leg, Carmen had seen the anger and worries that Dominic tried to hide. She’d gone back to Ani more determined to bring about an end to the fighting there, but had no idea how to get that done any faster without spending the lives of others who like Dominic had those who loved them.
But despite the discomfort the sunlight brought, Carmen had no choice but to be out in it. The high-priority summons from General Edelman had demanded her immediate presence, and parts of the journey to his headquarters had to be made outside due to cave-ins and mines or booby traps planted by both sides in belowground passages intended for transit and maintenance. Avoiding roads and streets where she’d be easy to spot, Carmen slunk through bright sunlight that illuminated tall weeds in courtyards and alleys where the only sign of human presence was the dirt trails wending through the underbrush. In the never-occupied city of Ani, humans lived like rats, and weeds flourished along with real rats.
Someday it would be different. Someday people would live here in peace.
The rodents making up most of the population of Ani these days weren’t technically real rats. Humanity hadn’t brought that life-form with them, and hadn’t had to bring it. Every world that developed its own life and ecology had also evolved things that filled the role of a rat. On every such planet people called them rats, to the despair of bioscientists who had given each species its own highly specific name that usually included some variation on pseudorattus.
What hadn’t been found anywhere humanity had yet gone were any traces of another intelligent species on a par with humans. The reasons for this were being hotly debated, with some saying it was proof of how special an intelligent species was, and others pointing out that it could simply mean that worlds needed rats much more than they needed something like humans. Tied in with those debates were theories that missing deep space exploration missions might have been victims of peaceful aliens wishing to remain undiscovered by the likes of human beings.
As Carmen cautiously picked her way along the last portions of her route through the empty, war-torn city, she thought that last theory might have some merit.
On the other hand, she had long ago realized the possibility that, just as rats everywhere were basically rats, other intelligent species might be as dangerous as humans.
But maybe there were friends out there. Or at least someone humans could live with. It was a very big galaxy, one that humanity had barely explored a tiny fraction of so far.
She paused before making the final move toward the building holding the command center, carefully looking over the area. A series of paths shielded from the sun (and observers) by lightweight panels, which had been whimsically designed to look like very large cards being scattered by the wind, had so far survived the fighting and offered covered routes to her destination. Someone had chosen this location well. From the outside, the building appeared to be completely unoccupied, just another multiuse structure that had been empty since it was built.
She made the last stretch moving quickly, but not so fast that she seemed to be rushing the place. Someone in that building would be watching her approach, and Carmen didn’t want to look like an attacker.
It wasn’t until Carmen was inside the entrance that she saw the sentries with weapons aimed at her. Any enemy going from the bright day to the dim interior would lose a precious few seconds while their eyes adjusted and their bodies stood out sharply against the day behind them. Most of the soldiers fighting for Kosatka were amateurs called to defend their world, but those who’d survived this long had learned their lessons the hard way, and they’d learned them quickly.
Carmen waited patiently as her identity was confirmed, then followed the guards’ directions through a maintenance door and to an access stairway heading down. As she took the steps, Carmen saw portable sensors stuck on the walls, scanning everyone who passed.
Another sentry stood by the door at the bottom of the stairs. “I was ordered to report to General Edelman,” Carmen told her. She’d never actually met the officer in charge of retaking Ani, though she had participated in a number of remote conferences in which Edelman had been present. That made it easy to recognize the general when she was directed his way.
The lights strung up on the ceiling of the underground command center lacked the glare of the sun, being set dim enough not to hinder reading displays. The command center still looked mostly like the subsurface parking garage it had been intended as, with bare walls of gray neocrete and broad, unadorned structural pillars standing at regular intervals. Displays had been mounted on two walls, and other equipment set on desks that looked like they’d been looted from a college or high school, bundles of fiber-optic lines and solar-linked power lines snaking acros
s the dusty floor and out doorways like the roots of some bizarre plant grown from the manufactured devices of humanity.
General Edelman, a man past middle age who’d been a major in an Old Earth military, greeted Carmen. “Ochoa. Good. We’re going to need you. You used to work in Earth gov, right? Conflict Resolution Office?”
Carmen nodded. “That was a while ago.”
“I assume you remember a few things about negotiations. You know the military situation in and around Ani as well as I do.” Edelman smiled. “Perhaps better than I do. I greatly value the intelligence reports and assessments from you that I’ve received. You’ve been saying the enemy situation is desperate, that they may crack at any time. You know that older and wiser heads back in Lodz disagree with that. They believe that the enemy will continue fighting for all they’re worth until the last one is dead.”
“Yes, sir,” Carmen said, wondering if she’d been called in to justify her judgment in person. Hadn’t Edelman agreed with her? “I’ve been made aware that my assessment differs from that of the IIS. But I stand by it. Most of our opponents aren’t elite troops fighting for a cause they believe in. And the ones who are so highly motivated are also the ones who’ve been fighting the hardest and dying at the highest rate as we keep shrinking the area held by the enemy.”
“The IIS is very unhappy with you.”
“Yes, sir,” Carmen repeated. Was she about to be raked over the coals? “But I need to inform you of what I believe the evidence here at the front shows.”
General Edelman grinned at her. “As it turns out, your assessment has been proven right. We’ve been contacted by two leaders of the enemy forces who want to discuss surrender. Good job sticking to your guns, Citizen Ochoa.”
“Thank you,” Carmen said, trying not to look relieved. “I appreciate you backing me up and giving me a position on your staff to protect me.”
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