Starcruiser Polaris: Terrible Swift Sword

by Richard Tongue

   Raising an eyebrow, Kani said, “What makes you think I'd be safe when I got there?”

   “Then the Commonwealth isn't working with you. Interesting. You're rebelled against your own people to join the fight. Courageous of you, if ultimately misguided. You realize, I hope, that you almost started a war?”

   “I rather thought I was fighting in one already.”

   “True, but I meant between the Federation and the Commonwealth. Oh, I know that we've been in an undeclared conflict for decades, but there was serious talk of launching a full-scale expedition. The Fleet could take your worlds...”

   “Go ahead,” Kani replied. “The Rebellion could certainly use the distraction.”

   “They're your people. You swore an oath of allegiance to them. Doesn't that mean anything to you? Anything at all?”

   “It means more to me than a man like you could possibly know, and that's why I'm here. There are, what, fifty thousand slaves on Hyperborea...”

   “Indentured workers. And that policy began under the Oligarchy. Your Commonwealth.”

   “A policy vastly expanded by the supposedly freedom-loving Federation. I'm not here to talk about history.” Gesturing at the door, he added, “You think any of those workers would fight for you? Sooner or later, they're going to rise up and push you and your kind out of power. I'm going to do everything in my power to make that day dawn as rapidly as possible.”

   “I would point out that your options in that regard are extremely limited at the moment. As it stands, you aren't going anywhere, and you aren't going to free anyone.” He paused, then said, “Let's talk about Major Cordova.”

   “She died a hero.”

   “She was spotted here, on Hyperborea, shortly after your arrival. And is currently loose on the surface of the planet.” Folding his hands together, he added, “Let's cut to the chase. I offer you freedom, and a ticket back to the Commonwealth. Or to the Halo Stars, if you'd prefer. We've got contacts out there as well. Your call. In exchange, I want complete details of the plans of Major Cordova...”

   “The dead don't tend to plot. As far as I know, she's dead.”

   He paused, then said, “I actually think I believe you. It makes sense that an operative who might be captured wouldn't be briefed on the plans of those still in the field. Very well, I'll restrict my request to one simple question. What is Edward Curtis planning?”

   “He's going to form a musical dance troupe. Swan Lake his way to power.”

   Taking a deep breath, Petrov replied, “Squadron Leader...Win...I can only protect you for a little while. I am not the master of my own destiny. Only your status as a Commonwealth officer has protected you thus far, but unless you are more responsive, I'm not going to be able to stop my colleagues from having their sport with you. Their techniques are brutal, savage. And effective. Ultimately, you're going to talk, one way or another. Wouldn't it be better to survive the process?”

   “Squadron Leader Winston Kani. Wing Commander, Starcruiser Polaris. I don't think we've got around to serial numbers yet, but if you need one for your records, I suppose I can come up with something for the occasion.” He looked up at Petrov, and said, “The first day I put on my uniform, I knew that it might mean that I was called upon to sacrifice my life. If I buy my people a few minutes more, just a few minutes, then it's worth it.”

   Shaking his head, Petrov replied, “I really can't talk you out of this, can I? You don't have to die here, and your war doesn't have to end. I'm realistic enough to know that as soon as you leave this planet, you'll find a way to rejoin the rebellion.”

   “Meaning that you'll almost certainly kill me, should I be naive enough to co-operate with you. Not exactly a tempting prospect, Micky.”

   “I keep my word when I give it. You can be sure of that. It's foolish not to in this business. If your word is worthless, nobody in their right mind will make a deal with you. And I'm a very good deal-maker, Win. One of the best. That's why I'm out here. You see, I think you and your people are playing some sort of bluff. That right now, your Fleet is assembling for an attack, and you're trying to buy some time by confusing us. You're stalling, hoping that when you do admit what you are planning, we'll accept it.” Glancing at the door, he added, “It won't work. Not with the drugs we have access to. You'll tell the whole truth as you know it, answer any question we put to you, and your deception play ends here.”

   “Why do you even care?” Kani asked.

   “Because I still have some of my soul left, Squadron Leader, and I'd like to hold onto it if I can. I'm a loyal Federation officer, but that doesn't mean I don't have a heart.”

   “Funny,” he replied. “I always considered that something of an oxymoron. Though perhaps you aren't the first ColSec administrator I've met who thinks that way.” Looking up at him, he said, “Let's turn this around. Help me get out of here. Join the rebellion. I'd bet there's a little shining gleam in the dark abyss of your conscience that tells you that it is the right thing to do, even if you'd never admit it. I'm sure you know a way to the starport.”

   With a sigh, Petrov said, “You aren't going to talk, are you. A shame.” He turned to the door, and Jack Pierce limped into the room, his leg swathed in bandages. “This is one of our best interrogators, though he's been moonlighting as an undercover operative for a while. And I'm afraid he has little reason to love your Major Cordova, or your rebellion generally.”

   “She left me to die in a snowstorm,” Pierce said. “I'm going to take great pleasure in her interrogation at some point in the very near future.” Turning to Petrov, he asked, “Is everything ready at the Bar and Grill?”

   “It's a waste of time,” Petrov replied. “But yes.”

   “Capturing traitors...”

   “Do you honestly think that they'd just blurt out where they were going?” he replied. “You've spent too much time talking to people under chemical control. It was a bluff, and a pretty obvious one. Nevertheless, I have dispatched a field team to put the area under surveillance.”

   Pulling out a black case, Pierce said, “Shall we get on with this, then? We've wasted enough time.” Clicking it open, he withdrew a hypodermic spray, holding it up in the air. “This should have him singing like a canary in a matter of minutes.”

   Clutching his wrist, Petrov replied, “Nothing permanent unless you genuinely have no choice. Or you'll be going back into the indent barracks for real this time.” Looking at Kani, he continued, “He's still a Commonwealth officer. The Political Directorate have expressed interest in trading him for some of our people, but nobody's going to give a damn about a zombie.”

   “He had the choice to cooperate. We've wasted enough time. Sir. Let me do my job.”

   “Last chance, Squadron Leader,” Petrov said. Reading the look on Kani's face, he said, “Go ahead, Pierce. Let's get this miserable business over with.” He pulled out a recorder, laying it on the table and switching it on with the touch of a button, while Pierce ripped off the sleeve of Kani's flight suit, exposing his bare skin to the cold.

   “I'd say this won't hurt a bit,” Pierce said, “but we went to a lot of trouble to ensure that it will.” He slammed the spray into position, and with a faint hiss, injected the serum into Kani's bloodstream. Instantly, the pilot felt as though his arm was on fire, every nerve ending firing at once to send waves of agony running through his system, tears flowing freely from his eyes. The drug rapidly spread throughout his body, and he collapsed to the floor, spasms wracking his form as he struggled to retain control, to retain consciousness, to hold on long enough to beat the serum.

   “Too much,” Petrov said. “You're going to kill him.”

   “No,” Pierce replied. “Look at his eyes. He's through the worst of it. I guess his heart was strong enough, after all.” Turning to Petrov, he added, “I had a crash cart standing by, just in case. Adds to the effect, sometimes. Always best to make this people realize that t
hey're not immortal.”

   “Neither are you,” Petrov said, darkly. Looking down at Kani, he continued, “Squadron Leader, can you hear me? Can you understand me?”

   “Go to Hell,” Kani spat.

   “Lie to me, Squadron Leader,” Pierce barked. “What color is your hair?”

   “Bl…,” Kani began, but the words wouldn't come to his mouth. “Purple! Purple!”

   A smile cracked across Pierce's face, and he said, “Now we can talk a little more sensibly, can't we, Squadron Leader.” Looking at Petrov, he continued, “We could have reached this point an hour ago, but the humanitarians must occasionally get their way, I suppose.” Glaring back at Kani, he asked, “What are the plans of the rebel fleet?”

   “No!” Kani yelled. “No!”

   “You will talk, Squadron Leader,” Pierce said, his voice a dull monotone. “What is Edward Curtis planning? Where is he going to attack? Tell me, Squadron Leader, and I will make all the pain go away. You want to tell me. You need to tell me. Now.”

   “No!” he screamed, another wave of pain surging over him. He tried to hold back, tried to resist, but it was impossible. He couldn't fight the serum any more. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to talk, and Pierce continued to drone on, asking the same question again and again, while Petrov looked implacably on.”

   “Hyperborea!” Kani yelled. “They're coming back! In full force, to free the slaves!”

   “When?” Pierce pressed. “When?”

   “Day 122, Hour 20. I don't know down to the minute. But that's when they're coming.” The tears flowed once again, the pilot clenching into fetal position. Pierce looked up triumphantly at Petrov, snatching the recorder from the desk.

   “Thank you, Squadron Leader,” Pierce said. “That's all I wanted to know. Now I can make sure we arrange a suitable reception for them. You'll have lots of company in your cell soon. Coming, Petrov?”

   “I think you can have the glory, Pierce,” Petrov replied, his voice laced with sarcasm.

   “Suit yourself,” Pierce said, striding out of the room, while Petrov dropped to the ground, holding the weeping Kani. “It'll be alright, Squadron Leader. It's going to be alright.”

  Chapter 6

   Commander Michael Curtis lay on his bunk, trying and failing to relax. His ship, the Starcruiser Canopus, had been orbiting Sinaloa Station for three weeks now, while Polaris took the lead in a series of hit-and-run operations to hold the Federation Fleet off-balance. He'd agreed to the strategy when his father had first suggested it, accepting the logic that Canopus was the more capable ship, and therefore the one they could least afford to risk, but that didn't make waiting around any less palatable.

   At least they were making progress. New recruits had arrived, small clumps of officers opting to switch sides, mostly the frontier fighter squadrons. The Federation had exiled their best to the distant outposts on the rim, letting their careers languish in favor of the political elite and their lackeys. Now they were reaping the results of that policy, and the rebellion was far stronger for it. Canopus was overloaded with four squadrons, its hangar deck densely packed, and Sinaloa was defended by two squadrons of its own.

   He flicked through the latest set of intelligence reports, more good news on every page. Rebel groups were openly operating on almost every colony world, and riots were becoming hourly occurrences on Earth itself, the population on the verge of total revolt. The Battle of Coronado had been a tremendous victory, and one that the Federation had been unable to conceal. Too many ships lost, too many crewmen killed. That had given the rebellious factions something to hope for. One more major victory would push them over the top.

   “Commander?” his communicator squawked. “Polaris just jumped into the system, sir. Commander Curtis…,” the technician paused, and continued, “I mean...”

   “My father, Spaceman,” Mike said with a smile. “I get it.”

   “He's on his way over here, sir. Requests a senior command conference at once. And he wanted to tell you that Phase One had been completed successfully.”

   Nodding, Mike replied, “Have Commander Duval and Lieutenants Hammond, Schmidt and Petrova report to the briefing room on the double. Inform Lieutenant Kenyon that she has the deck for the present.” He paused, then added, “You'd better contact Major Morgan, as well. I think he's on Sinaloa Station right now.”

   “He's already on his way, sir,” the technician replied. “Polaris must have contacted him.”

   “Very well. Thank you, Spaceman.” He flicked off the communicator, rose to his feet, and reached for his uniform jacket, lying on the bed. He looked at it for a moment, then slid it over his shoulders, tugging it into position as he stepped out into the corridor, walking towards the waiting elevator. Three weeks of inactivity, and now the action was about to begin.

   “Wait a minute,” a soft voice said, and he turned to see Lieutenant Petrova, his political officer, running towards him. He held his hand at the threshold of the door long enough to allow her to slide into the elevator, then tapped the control for the briefing room. “Sorry, Commander.”

   “Not a problem,” he said with a smile. “Caught me by surprise as well.”

   “You seen the latest reports?” she replied. “Apparently a Federation cruiser has rebelled. It's all over the networks. Broke out of formation at Caledonia and raced for the threshold before anyone could stop them.” Plucking a datapad out of her pocket, she continued, “Auxiliary Cruiser Castro. Bit of a shock that they've already got some ready.”

   Grimacing, Mike replied, “It was always likely, I'm afraid. There are usually a few transports under repair. If they're half-stripped down already, they'd have an easier job for the conversion.” He paused, then asked, “Any other details? Personnel, capability?”

   “Just the name of her Captain. Commander William Ortiz.” Mike's expression fell, and she asked, “That a problem? You know him?”

   “He was my roommate at the Academy. And the best man at my wedding.” He sighed, and added, “No, it won't be a problem. He's a good man.”

   “I didn't know you are married. It's not in your file.”

   “I'm not.” He looked at her, and said, “Mind if we change the subject?”

   She glared back at him, and replied, “For the moment. I've completed the latest set of reliability checks.” At his grimace, she continued, “I don't know what else to call them. In any case, I haven't found any sleeper agents in the latest batch of recruits, though I'd still recommend keeping them to Sinaloa for the moment. Just to be on the safe side.”

   “Fine,” Mike replied. “I don't think we could fit any more on Canopus anyway, though Polaris might want to add a fourth squadron.” The doors slid open, and the two of them walked down the corridor. “How are you doing with this? Changing sides?”

   She paused, then replied, “That's not how I think of it. I haven't changed. The Federation did. It just took me a long time to realize it.” She frowned, then said, “My father was the same way. He's a ColSec administrator. Out on the frontier, because he believed in things like rights for detainees, due process, that sort of thing. I haven't seen him for a while.” She sighed, then added, “I followed my mother into the Political Directorate. Lots of arguments there.”

   Mike smiled, and replied, “I take it she has a different philosophy.”

   “You'd be right about that. It's a minor miracle they're still together, though being on different planets probably helps a bit. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” Mike's face fell, and she said, “Did I say something wrong?”

   “Bad memories. Forget about it.” They walked into the briefing room, the rest of the Canopus contingent already there, snapping to attention at his approach. He returned the salute, then took his seat at the head of the table, Petrova taking the chair to his right, Schmidt that to his left. Nominally, Hammond was acting as his Executive Officer, but that was simply to all
ow Schmidt to remain at Tactical for want of a good enough replacement. In every way that counted, she was his second-in-command.

   He glanced at her for a moment, shaking his head. When they'd first met, they'd been enemies, rivals for the same command, he'd thought. Until he'd learned that she was a rebel operative, that she'd been working against him the whole time. Now that he'd switched sides to follow his father, she'd transformed into his most loyal officer, a change that had caught them both by surprise. He looked up as Major Morgan walked into the room, the rebel soldier somehow managing to look smart in urban camo, dropping into a chair at the middle of the table.

   “Commander,” Morgan said, with a nod.

   “Major,” he replied. “How are your Marines coming along?”

   “Slowly and painfully, but I can throw a company into the mix when you want it. Four slightly shrunk platoons, but it'll do for our purposes. Assuming we've got some action coming up.”

   “We do,” Curtis said, Mike's father walking into the room with Saxon and Rojek behind him. “And when I tell you what we're planning, Major, I expect you'll be missing the happy days of training simulations.” Turning to Mike, he said, “You've got a good force assembled, Commander.”

   “All ready and willing for action,” he replied.

   “I hope so.” Curtis sat down at the far end of the table, and said, “I'm going to have to be quick. Polaris will be jumping out of the system in about an hour from now.” Looking around the room, he added, “We're going back to Hyperborea, ladies and gentlemen, and this time we're there to stay. The first assault was a total success. Three squadrons shattered, probably beyond repair, and one auxiliary cruiser destroyed.”

   “More of them?” Petrova asked. “We knew about Castro, but...”

   “At least three, then,” Saxon replied. “Probably more. We've got full tactical specifications for you. Our guess is that they were preparing them before the rebellion started, but we've got no idea as to why.”