by Jake Elwood
They would be able to ignore laser fire, and the Tomahawk's puny railguns would hit like spitballs. Three ships would come for the Tomahawk, she decided, and three for the Theseus. When both ships were disabled—in two or three minutes, probably—the aliens would swarm over the hull of the Adamant and eliminate the few maneuvering thrusters and laser turrets that remained.
And then they'd have all the time they needed to destroy the Gate utterly.
"Get ready to move," she said. "As soon as they come for us we'll evade. We'll keep running and shooting until …" Her voice trailed off when she realized she didn't have an ending for that sentence. Not one she'd say out loud to her crew, anyway.
"They're spreading out," Touhami said, his voice shrill. "Two to starboard. Two to port and down. Two to port and up. They're surrounding us!"
"Main thrust on my mark," said Kaur.
"The ships on the starboard side are pulling back," Touhami said.
"We'll go port and up, then," Kaur snapped.
"The ships port and down are pulling back too," said Touhami. There was a pause as he listened intently to his handset. Then he turned to look at her. "All six ships are pulling back."
What the hell? They have us! We're finished. Out of missiles, out of big rail gun rounds. We've got nothing left but lasers and small-bore ammo. We can't touch them.
But they don't know, do they? They know we've smashed their home. They know we've smashed their fleet. They ran us off, but we came back. And why would we come back if we weren't ready for a fight to the death?
They're demoralized, and they're scared. They think we're ready to destroy them.
"Advance," said Kaur. "Slowly. But advance. Signal the Theseus. Tell them to advance with us." She paused. "Be polite. But tell Hammett to keep up."
She was aware of Ramirez in her peripheral vision, giving her a stricken look. He lifted his handset, though, and spoke.
The main engines hummed softly as the Tomahawk advanced, and Touhami, his voice full of wonder, said, "The enemy is increasing speed, Captain. They're running away!"
She nodded as if it was what she'd expected all along. "Reduce thrust."
Momentum carried the Tomahawk forward, but there was no more acceleration. The distance to the alien ships grew as the Hive fleet picked up speed. When Benson estimated the range at five hundred kilometers Kaur said, "Reverse thrust. We'll stop here."
The navigational thrusters in the nose of the ship burned until the Tomahawk was stationary relative to the asteroid field behind them. Up ahead, the aliens continued to retreat toward their habitat.
I should leave now, Kaur thought. Before that Gate opens. I should offload all the Spacecom personnel. Maybe take on a few colonials from the Theseus. Maybe not, though. I don't want to be overcrowded for such a long trip.
I can take a little time to visit the disabled corvettes, or the Manatee. Load up on food and water. Maybe some more ammunition, in case we run into trouble on the way home. I've got at least an hour, maybe a couple of hours before that Gate opens. Even longer, if it takes Spacecom a while to decide it's safe to come through. I won't have to surrender to an Earth fleet. I can go directly to Naxos.
I can go home.
She wasn't sure when the colony had become 'home' to her. It was, though. She was in temporary quarters in Harlequin. She'd barely seen her room, spending most of her time on the Tomahawk. But she knew she was welcome on Ariadne. She wouldn’t go so far as to say that she belonged, not yet. But there was a place for her on Ariadne, and it was hers.
The idea that she might finish her days in a cell on Earth was bad enough. The thought that she might never see the colony again, though, gave her a surprisingly strong pang. Still, she realized she was going to have to take that chance. If she opened up a wormhole it might be the encouragement the aliens needed to renew their attack. She and Hammett were running a massive bluff, and if the aliens chose to call it …
So she would stay put, looking fearless, and wait for the Gate to open. And then she'd face her fate, whatever it turned out to be.
CHAPTER 26 - HAMMETT
Hammett was on the Tomahawk when the Gate finally connected to the Sol system. The Tomahawk and Theseus were docked nose to nose, and he'd crossed over to shower and change into a fresh uniform. He didn't know whose cabin he used, but with the ship crammed with refugees, no one could be too possessive about space.
He changed, then checked his appearance in the mirror in the cabin's tiny head. He looked tired, but respectable. The green uniform no longer looked so strange.
Yawning, he trudged back into the cabin's main room. His vac suit waited, folded neatly on a chair beside the bunk. He stared at the bunk, mightily tempted to stretch out. It would hardly be fair. He wasn't the only crewman hoping to take a shower, after all.
Still, just a few minutes wouldn't hurt …
A muffled buzz woke him. He peered around, bleary and disoriented. Sanjari's voice, tinny and echoing, came from the helmet on the chair. He sat up, yawned wide enough to hurt his jaw muscles, and grabbed the helmet. Feeling a bit ridiculous, he plopped the helmet on his head.
"This is Lieutenant Sanjari, calling Admiral Hammett."
"I'm here, Lieutenant." His voice sounded gravelly, and he cleared his throat. How long was I sleeping?
"The Gate is connected," she said. "The first ships are coming through."
A mix of dread and relief washed over him. "Any reaction from the Hive?"
"Not so far, Sir."
"I'll be right there."
He took off the helmet, then bundled up his vac suit. He wouldn’t put the suit on, he decided. Not unless the aliens reacted strongly. He didn't care to be arrested in a Spacecom-issued vac suit. He'd wear his new uniform to his doom.
"Speaking of uniforms," he muttered, and gathered up the sweaty, wrinkled clothes he'd been wearing since the ship left Ariadne. He had a locker aboard the Theseus. He would stow everything on his way to the bridge.
When the hatch to the cabin slid open he heard a buzz of nervous conversation from the corridor outside. He stepped out, and a wave of silence worked its way down the corridor. Sailors pressed themselves against the bulkheads to make room, and he nodded his thanks.
"Good luck, Admiral," said a technician.
"Don’t take any crap from the EDF," a specialist chimed in.
The comments kept coming as he walked. "You did the right thing, Sir." "You stood up for what's right. They can't take that away." "You'll still be the admiral, no matter what they do to you."
That last one was hardly encouraging. Hammett nodded to the sergeant who'd spoken, then stepped through the twin airlocks and onto the Theseus.
The catwalk along the spine of the ship was crowded with people in vac suits. A young colonist stepped in front of him, pulled the vac suit and uniform from his hands, and said, "Let me get that, Admiral." She turned her back before he could protest and led the way, barking, "Make a path! Admiral coming through."
A middle-aged man in a blue helmet gave Hammett an embarrassed look as he pressed himself back against the railing. Beside him, Lieutenant Parker saluted. A colonist barely out of his teens said, "We won't let them arrest you, Sir."
"I want no resistance," Hammett snapped. "The fighting's over. There's going to be no violence between human beings. Is that clear?"
The boy scowled, but he nodded. "Yes, Sir."
Hammett continued along the catwalk. A couple of Spacecom sailors wouldn't quite meet his eyes. A woman his own age, her cheek tattoos marking her as a colonist, clapped him on the shoulder and said, "It'll be fine, Admiral."
He passed a dozen more people before he reached the galley. None of the colonists let him pass without an encouraging comment. It was all entirely inappropriate for enlisted personnel speaking to an officer. It was also heartfelt, and Hammett loved them for it. His colonists didn't have the training and indoctrination of Spacecom personnel. They got by with only the best parts of the military tradition—co
urage, basic skills, and a boundless supply of loyalty and generosity.
He'd long since stopped being embarrassed by his new green uniform. Now, for the first time, he was fiercely proud of it.
"Miss."
The woman in front of him stopped and turned.
Hammett gestured at the hatch to the galley. "I've got a locker in there."
"I'll find it, Sir," she said, and ducked through the hatch. He heard her greet several people, then demand to know where the admiral's locker was.
He moved past the galley. O'Reilly and a couple of colonists still guarded the entrance to the bridge. "I want you to stand down," he told her. "I expect we'll be boarded soon by Spacecom personnel. I don’t want you firing on anything with two arms and two legs."
She nodded her understanding. "I don't mind staying here, though." She looked at the others. "None of us do."
"They'll send marines first," Hammett said. "The marines are going to be ridiculously well-armed, and wound up tighter than guitar strings. I don't want them provoked." When O'Reilly opened her mouth he said, "You standing there with a gun on your hip might just be provocation enough. Let's not tempt fate."
Her face drooped. "All right, Admiral." She headed for the stairs, gesturing to the others. "Let's go, guys."
Hammett watched them go, wondering what would happen to them. He would protect them as best he could, but he doubted he'd be able to do much. Sighing, he turned and entered the bridge.
Sanjari looked up. Like him, she'd changed and taken off her vac suit. "The Hannibal just came through," she said. "Couple of corvettes, too. All three ships are heading this way." She gestured with her thumb.
Hammett turned, looking in the direction she indicated. The starboard window was a mess, and he wondered uneasily if it was likely to burst. Dying one room over from his vac suit because he wanted to look good would be really stupid.
It would save a lot of hassle, though.
It took a moment to spot the Hannibal. The cruiser's dark blue paint blended with the darkness of space and lost itself among the cracks and splinters in the glass. As the ship advanced, though, it moved into an undamaged section of the window and he saw it clearly.
He was admiring the cruiser's lines and thinking of the Alexander when a flash of light on the side of the cruiser caught his attention. The light source shot toward him, and he opened his mouth to shout, far too late to give an effective warning.
An explosion lit the void just ahead of the Theseus, and Hammett said, "Missile!"
Eddie flinched back from the explosion, shouted, "What the hell!" and twisted around in his chair. His face was a mask of bewildered outrage. "Why in hell are they shooting at us?"
Hammett dropped into his chair, full of weary anger. "It was a warning shot. They'd have hit us if they wanted to." So this is the way it's going to be. Not even a radio call first. No negotiation. No acknowledgement of what happened here. Just a missile, exploding dangerously close. "Raise the Hannibal," he said to Sanjari. "Tell them we surrender."
CHAPTER 27 - BLOCH
Commodore Bloch looked down at the Earth and brooded.
He stood in the Starlight Lounge, a long room with one steelglass wall just forward of the Hannibal's bridge. The room was a lounge reserved for officers. He'd posted a marine at the door with instructions to turn away anyone Bloch hadn't personally summoned. He didn't much care if it displeased Colonel Laycraft, the Hannibal's commanding officer. After what Bloch had been through, he was damned well going to claim every perk of rank that came his way.
Looking down on the Earth usually soothed him. It reminded him why he wore the uniform, why he'd chosen his career. Things usually seemed so clear when he could gaze down on his home planet from above.
Today, that clarity eluded him.
Directly across from him, at a range of less than a kilometer, the Theseus sat like a battered jewel displayed on black velvet. He supposed the converted freighter was ugly, if viewed objectively. The little ship had achieved so much, though, that it seemed elegant and grand to his eyes. The hull was dented, there were long swaths where the tendrils of Fourier metal had broken away, but still she looked … heroic.
A shuttle was docked to her nose, giving the ship a lopsided look. As Bloch watched, the shuttle separated and left. Another shuttle promptly took its place. The colonists were being loaded aboard the Theseus. They would be sent home.
Not the former Spacecom personnel who had mutinied. They would stay here to face judgment. It was only right, but somehow it didn't feel right. Bloch frowned at the ship, thinking about his duty, his orders, and whether the two were the same thing.
The door to the lounge hissed open and a square of light appeared, reflected in the steelglass before him. He turned.
It was Hammett, with a marine guard on either side. He wore the rumpled green uniform of the Colonial Forces. Every last one of the prisoners, offered a prison jumpsuit, had opted to keep their ridiculous uniforms.
"You're dismissed," Bloch said to the marines. The guards left, and Hammett ambled over to stand beside the Commodore. He looked perfectly relaxed, as if he were strolling through his own apartment. Well, Bloch would expect no less from a man with thirty years of naval experience.
"We're releasing the colonists," Bloch said, nodding toward the Theseus. "They've broken interstellar law, but the Statsminister wanted to make a gesture of goodwill."
"The man's a paragon," Hammett said dryly.
Bloch bit back a sharp retort. The next part of the conversation was going to be difficult, but after everything Hammett had done, the very least he deserved was the truth. "I thought about letting you go."
Hammett turned to look at him.
"I thought about transferring you to the Theseus," Bloch said. "I figured at worst I might get a reprimand. With everything that's happened in the last day, though, I thought I'd get away with it."
Hammett didn't speak, just looked at him.
"I decided I couldn't do it." Bloch turned his gaze back to the Theseus, chagrined to realize this confession was easier without meeting Hammett's gaze. "My duty was clear. You had to stand trial for mutiny."
If any part of his monologue had an effect on Hammett, it's didn't show.
"Then I got this," Bloch said. He reached in his pocket for a data pad, frustrated by the clumsiness of the technology, wondering how Hammett and his people coped without working implants. He thumbed the pad to life and held it up where Hammett could see the screen. He played the video clip he'd received an hour before.
"General Bloch." The tiny figure of Jeff Acton looked haggard and tired on the little screen. "You've done excellent work. I congratulate you." Acton leaned forward, planting his forearms on a cluttered desk. "I understand you captured Hammett." Acton grimaced. "I wish you'd killed him. That would make things easier." He stared into the camera for a moment. "I want you to release him." He made a smoothing gesture with his hand. "Keep it quiet. Unofficial. If anyone asks, you're not sure where he ended up."
Bloch, who had watched the clip three times already, felt again the mix of shock and cold numbness he'd felt three times before.
"The situation down here is … politically delicate," Acton said. "I need to look strong. I can't turn Hammett loose. But he's a symbol. A lot of people are going to rally behind him." Acton's face changed, fury and frustration shining through. It lasted only a moment.
"It would be better if he was gone," Acton went on. "Far away. Off in his distant colony where everyone can forget about him. So get him on board that ship that's going to Naxos. There won't be an investigation. I'll keep it out of the press."
I'll keep it out of the press. My God. He actually said that.
Acton's face twisted. "Either that, or he can have a fatal accident. I'm good with that too."
Bloch stopped the video. "He doesn't know I recorded that. I won't go public with it, either, so don't ask." He glanced at Hammett, and had to fight the urge to squirm.
"I've
made a decision, Richard. I didn't consult you." He took a deep breath and made himself look directly at the other man. "I don't like you. I don't agree with the decisions you've made. You developed a swelled head. You let delusions of grandeur warp your judgment." He shook his head. "My God, man! You mutinied in the middle of a war! We don't always agree with the politicians who call the shots—Lord knows, I never liked that Saretsky woman—but we do our duty, and we remember our vows."
Hammett's shoulders moved in the tiniest of shrugs.
Bloch sighed. "You're a fool. But you thought you were doing your duty, didn't you? Your view of what your duty was, was twisted—but you never flinched from it. You did what you thought was right, and to hell with the consequences."
He stared into Hammett's unblinking brown eyes, wishing the man would react in some way. "I decided that my first impulse was the correct one," Bloch said. "It is my duty to deliver you to Earth to stand trial. If your trial disrupts a 'politically delicate' situation, well, maybe the situation needs disrupting. It'll be rough on you." Now there's a bit of understatement. "But I asked myself what you would want me to do if I asked you. And I think you would do what you always do. You would ignore your own well-being and do what you think is right."
Hammett's eyebrows rose.
"We're transferring you to Port Kodiak within the hour. After that, it's out of my hands."
"I see," said Hammett.
"You fought well," said Bloch. "I'm honored to have fought beside you." He was surprised to find that he meant it. "Good luck." He held out his hand, and Hammett shook it. "I'll see you at your trial."
CHAPTER 28 - HAMMETT
The shuttle ride from Port Kodiak to Hawking was always harrowing. It was more of a shuttle drop than a shuttle ride, since the station was in a geosynchronous orbit almost directly over the city. Hammett, his wrists cuffed before him, ignored the marines who guarded him and pressed his face to the window, watching as the shuttle plunged into a layer of cloud. The cloud broke and he saw the Baja Peninsula below him, growing rapidly as the shuttle hurtled downward.