She tried to ignore the unpleasant feeling in her chest as her defences shattered, the remaining visible ships either falling back or being ruthlessly blown out of space. A couple dropped their shields and tried to surrender, something that would have been unthinkable two years ago, but the humans ignored them. She couldn’t tell if the automated systems were incapable of recognising a surrender or if the humans simply wanted to commit a war crime. A handful of human ships materialised on the gravity point, bringing up their sensors and weapons with terrifying speed. This time, they took no fire. None of the forward defences had lasted long enough to greet them.
But they don’t know about Force Two, she reminded herself, as the human ships started to move away from the gravity point. They don’t know we’re lying in wait.
Her hands moved over her console as the display continued to update. A steady stream of human warships began to appear, deploying so quickly that there was a serious risk of one ship interpenetrating another and destroying both ships. She hoped a few of them would, if only to convince the humans to slow down. She’d seen the reports, heard the horror stories passed down from a dozen battles, but she hadn’t actually believed them. No Galactic race would ever take the risk. But the humans were barbarians. They took risks with their lives that no sane race would ever take. They seemed to consider themselves expendable.
The deployment continued, slowly but surely. A handful of ships dropped into FTL, rocketing towards the other gravity point or the planet itself; the remainder stayed near the first gravity point, watching and waiting as the assault force grew stronger. Piling forced herself to wait, knowing it was only a matter of time before the humans made their bid to seize the next gravity point. The planets were immaterial, as far as she was concerned. If the humans managed to take the gravity point, they could cut the entire system off from the rest of the empire and block all hope of reinforcement. And then ... her lips thinned as she saw hundreds of freighters, the ones she hadn’t managed to press into service, streaking away from the planet. Their commanders could read a tactical display as well as herself. They knew it was just a matter of time before they were locked out of the gravity point. They had to get through before it was too late or they’d face so many penalties they’d probably lose their licences to command starships.
And the combines won’t give a damn, she thought. Don’t they know there’s a war on?
She leaned forward as the human ships started to move, powerful squadrons heading towards the other gravity point. They were taking their time, she noted; they could have moved a great deal faster if they wished. She frowned, wondering if it was some kind of trap. The humans didn’t know she was waiting for them, did they? Or ... she smiled, grimly, as she understood what she was seeing. The humans wanted the freighters to run. They wanted them to spread the word. They wanted the entire galaxy to see the Tokomak lose yet another system. And word would spread ...
Piling reached for her console to issue orders, then shook her head. There was no hope of closing the gravity point, not in time to matter. The freighters would carry news of defeat ... she hoped they’d carry news of a valiant last stand too. The humans were good, but they weren’t gods. They’d be buried in starships and missiles, once the reserve fleets were online and the fabrication nodes were up to speed. And her battle here, as tiny as it was by the standards of previous engagements, would buy time. It was worth it.
She tapped a switch. “Prepare to engage,” she ordered. Her ships had their drives and shields stepped down as much as possible. Thankfully, the human ships weren’t trying to hide. The engagement would have become impossible if both sides were relying on passive sensors. “Fire when they reach the planned waypoint, unless they scan us first. If they do, fire at once.”
Her heart started to race as the human ships drew closer. She’d planned the engagement carefully, running through hundreds of simulations, but it was all too clear the humans had never read the tactical manuals. Or, if they had, they hadn’t paid any attention. Their tactics alone were crazy, by pre-war standards. Now ... Piling had the odd feeling an era was dying, even if the war was won without further ado. She’d heard her junior officers openly discussing new tactics, as if they no longer trusted what they read in the manuals. They’d never get promotion with attitudes like that ... no, once they would never have got promotion with those attitudes. Now, Piling wasn’t so sure. The empress had thought outside the box. It was why she was empress.
And if I’d had that sort of imagination, she told herself, perhaps I would be empress.
She snorted and put the thought out of her head. She didn’t have that sort of imagination. She’d never had the nerve - or the need - to think outside the box. And that was all there was to it. She would never have thought to launch a coup. She would certainly never have considered that a coup might succeed ... the thought had been laughable.
She was sure no one was laughing now.
“Prepare to engage,” she repeated. She knew she was nervous. She couldn’t help herself. Whatever happened, she wasn’t going to survive. She was old and yet she felt unready to die. A year or so ago, death would have been unthinkable. A year or so ago, the war itself would have been unthinkable. Who would have thought there was anything that could stand against the masters of the universe? “Prepare to ...”
The display washed red. The human ships seemed to jump. Piling knew it was her imagination, but she clung to it anyway. She’d hoped the enemy would obligingly crawl into point-blank range before noticing her ships, yet ... she’d given them a fright. And her ships were close enough to launch their missiles in sprint mode. The humans would have to either stand on the defensive or flee into FTL and they didn’t have time to do either. She smiled, coldly, as the first missiles launched from her ships, their drives powering up in a desperate bid to generate gravity wells. It might just keep the humans from fleeing when they realised they’d walked into a trap.
She leaned forward as the human ships started to return fire. The cloaking devices had been rendered useless the moment her ships had launched their missiles, of course. The humans would have to be blind not to see where the missiles were coming from, blind and stupid to miss the obvious fact that there were invisible ships lurking under cloak. But their targeting was disturbingly accurate, accurate enough to make her wonder if they’d known she was there all along ... she shook her head. They really weren’t gods. If they’d known she was there, they would have opened fire while her ships were defenceless. She might not even have known what had hit her before it was too late.
Icons - human icons - flickered as her missiles started to explode. Their shields were tough - it was disconcerting to realise that a human cruiser had better shields than one of her battleships - but they weren’t designed to take such a pounding. A vindictive sense of cold glee washed through her as a human cruiser vanished, followed rapidly by a pair of destroyers and a ship of indeterminate class. The losses were going to be uneven, in both senses of the word. She might lose her entire squadron, but the humans - proportionally - would suffer worse. The explosions pockmarking her ships would represent a net loss to the human fleet even if they killed her entire squadron.
Her ships brought up their drives and plunged forward, trying to narrow the range as much as possible. Piling had put her biggest ships in the vanguard, trying to ensure that they drew fire so her smaller ships could get into range. The humans seemed to be wise to the trick, but they could hardly ignore millions of tons of battleship trying to get into energy range. A low shudder ran though the CIC as her flagship took a hit, alerts flashing up to warn her the humans were using antimatter warheads. Piling wasn’t surprised, but she was disconcerted. The humans - somehow - had managed to get a bigger than expected yield ...
They must have found a way to compress antimatter safely, she thought, as she glanced at the sensor reports. It was hard to be sure - the antimatter blasts were disrupting everything - but the human missiles didn’t look any larger than he
r own. And yet, compressed antimatter was very dangerous. It would be a hellish risk, whatever advantages it offered its users. Perhaps they’d found a way to produce miniature drives. It was theoretically possible, if one didn’t mind the radiation surge. They’re quite happy to take risks if it gives them the edge.
Another impact shook her ship as the range closed rapidly. The humans were blasting away with phasers and other energy weapons now, burning through her shields and cutting into her hulls. Her ships were doing the same, her smaller ships deliberately trying to ram the bigger enemy warships. Their losses would sting, but ... Piling told herself, again and again, that her people would come out ahead. They could afford to take losses. Their human enemies could not. She smiled, coldly. She wouldn’t be promoted - she wouldn’t survive long enough - but she’d be remembered. She just hoped it was enough for her family. They would suffer if she was remembered poorly.
A human starship - a cruiser, she thought - exploded as her energy weapons tore through its hull. She noted a handful of lifepods, a couple mistaken for mines and picked off as the remains of her formation careened through the human ships. Her ship shook again and again, her crew fighting desperately to keep the damage under control a few minutes longer. And yet, the damage was mounting up rapidly. She cursed as a console exploded, something that only happened when the damage was beyond control. Power surges within the vessel’s control systems meant certain destruction. Her time was up ...
They’ll remember me, she thought, vindictively. The display blanked as the ship shook again and again. She wanted to run to the nearest lifepod, but she knew it was already too late. They’d been on a collision course before the drives had failed ... she hoped they’d maintain enough speed to hit their target. They’ll remember me ...
And then the world went away in a flash of blinding light.
Chapter Ten
“The last of the enemy ships has been destroyed,” Yolanda reported.
“Continue to deploy drones,” Hoshiko ordered, keeping the annoyance out of her voice with an effort. The enemy commander had planned an ambush and pulled it off perfectly. Almost perfectly ... she snorted, reminding herself the enemy wasn’t stupid. Their commander, who was hopefully dead, had reasoned out a plan to hurt her deployment and succeeded magnificently. “And order Force One to advance to the gravity point.”
She leaned back in her chair as the fleet picked up speed. The enemy ships - mainly freighters, as far as her sensors could tell - seemed intent on running for their lives. A handful had dropped into FTL and were fleeing, while the remainder were heading for the gravity point as if they feared she’d slam the door closed at any moment. And she would, given time. She could do it a great deal quicker, if she wished. They knew it. They’d probably be unsure why she wasn’t slamming the door closed.
Which won’t stop them taking advantage of it, she thought, feeling the time slowly ticking by. Let them think I made a mistake.
She forced herself to check the figures as the fleet crawled through space. The enemy hadn’t had the time or the resources to mount a proper defence, although what they’d done had been bad enough. In some ways, it wasn’t reassuring. The main body of the enemy fleet, the survivors of N-Gann, had continued to flee. She would have preferred to bring them to battle before they could link up with reinforcements, let alone have time to start learning from their own mistakes. The Tokomak were inexperienced, but that was changing rapidly. A smart commander would start distributing experienced crewmembers around his fleet to ensure they had a chance to teach the inexperienced what to do.
And they gave us a bloody nose, she thought, sourly. A bloody nose was hardly fatal - she’d had her nose bloodied a few times in playground fights, when she’d been a great deal younger - but it was still a shock. The next engagement will be harder.
She glanced at Yolanda. “Inform Captain Douglas that he may deploy as planned,” she ordered. She knew perfectly well that Yolanda and Douglas were in a relationship, but it didn’t matter as long as they stayed professional while they were on duty. They weren’t in the same chain of command. “And remind him he has a time limit.”
“Aye, Admiral,” Yolanda said.
Hoshiko scowled. The files stated there were no gravity point defences between N-Gann and the Twins. She was pretty sure the files were out of date. The Tokomak had to be doing everything they could to slow her down, assuming that she intended to drive on their homeworld with all the force she could muster. It was what they would have done. And if they happened to start searching every freighter that passed through the gravity point, Captain Douglas and his team were doomed. They wouldn’t even have a chance to sell their lives dearly. She would have preferred to send them through FTL, but by the time they reached their destination the whole mission would be pointless. The war - win or lose - would be over.
She turned her attention to the display and watched as a steady stream of freighters headed for the gravity point and made transit. Captain Douglas should have plenty of cover amongst the rats leaving the sinking ship ... she hoped, prayed, that he made it. The Tokomak shouldn’t have time to start searching every ship, not when they had to scramble to get their defences in place. And yet, they were more mindlessly bureaucratic than the worst bureaucrats humanity had ever produced. They might start searching the ships because they didn’t have the imagination to realise they had worse problems breathing down their necks.
Yolanda looked up. “Admiral, we’re picking up a signal from the planet,” she said. “There’s an uprising. They want our help.”
Which would be a ready-made excuse to leave the door open a little longer, if the enemy wasn’t so unimaginative, Hoshiko thought. They might start wondering why we were ignoring their tactical manuals.
“Detach two squadrons and the LinkShip to the planet,” she ordered, tersely. It would be enough firepower to make a difference, if luck was on their side. There were so many rats leaving the sinking ship that it was quite possible that there was no one in charge on the surface, certainly no one with the authority to order mass reprisals. “If the enemy defences are strong enough to stand them off, the rebels will just have to wait.”
“Aye, Admiral.” Yolanda hid it well, but she wasn’t pleased. She was too young and idealistic to realise the rebels couldn’t be supported, not until the operation was completed and the gravity point was firmly closed. Who knew? There could be an entire alien fleet lurking on the far side, just waiting for the humans to come into range before they sprang their trap. “I’m redeploying the units now.”
“Good.” Hoshiko studied the younger woman’s back for a moment, then turned her attention back to the display. “Inform me when we’re entering weapons range.”
“Aye, Admiral.”
***
Hameeda felt oddly like the angel of doom as she flew towards Hellene-II, even though none of the defenders - or the hundreds of freighters fleeing the planet - could see her. It looked as though the entire planet was being evacuated, hundreds of thousands of people running for their lives. She knew it was an illusion - there was little hope of evacuating an entire planet in the space of a few hours, even if the combined ships of every galactic power were pressed into service - but it lingered in her mind. She felt torn between guilt and an odd kind of relief. Whatever else happened, there would be no - or few - reprisals. The cycle of hatred might just be broken.
She monitored the planetary communications channels with a subsection of her neural network as the range closed, trying to get a handle on what was actually happening. It was hard to be sure - she didn’t have any idea of what the planet had been like, before the gravity point had been taken and the revolution began - but it sounded as though the majority of the planetary industry and defences had fallen into revolutionary hands. Her onboard analysis programs suggested the communications networks were definitely in friendly hands, if only because they were filling space with their chatter. The Tokomak were definitely more dignified. Now, all the limiters
seemed to have been removed.
The planet grew larger in her mind’s eye, a single rocky orb surrounded by a hundred orbital stations of varying size. It was tiny, compared to N-Gann. There was no ring, no sense that - one day - the entire planet might be wrapped in sheet metal and lost forever. Her sensors noted that the atmosphere was thin, almost impossible to breathe without heavy genetic or technological enhancement. The files stated that a terraforming program had begun, but it had only ever been half-hearted. Reading between the lines, Hameeda suspected the combines hadn’t wanted their workers - their slaves, to all intents and purposes - running away. It was an easy way to keep them in place without being brutally obvious.
Her tactical sensors updated sharply, picking out a handful of orbital weapons platforms firing on their fellows. A handful of possible scenarios appeared in her mind, suggesting that the Tokomak still controlled a number of platforms. It wasn’t easy to be sure which platforms were friendly, for any meaning of the word. The Tokomak would fire on her without a second thought, if they saw her, but the rebels might also fire on her. They simply didn’t have the ability to be sure she was friendly.
And they might think I’m not remotely friendly, she thought. Just less hostile than the Tokomak themselves.
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