Their Last Full Measure

by Christopher Nuttall

  The LinkShip jumped into a maelstrom. Hameeda gritted her teeth, cursing under her breath as she angled away from the remnants of a flight of gunboats. The remains of a minefield were clearly visible on her sensors, so ragged she was sure they were antimatter warheads that had been consumed by a giant chain reaction. She smirked at the thought, then concentrated on putting some distance between herself and the enemy sensors. The platforms near the gravity point itself should have been blinded, she thought, but there was an entire enemy fleet some distance from the point. Her eyes narrowed. It was quite some distance from the point. She was damn sure the bastards had learnt from what had happened to the last fleet.

  And they can jump into FTL and land on top of us the moment they see the real fleet transiting the gravity point, she mused. Someone on the other side was clearly thinking ahead. Not bad tactics, all things considered.

  She kept her drives as low as she could as she crawled away from the gravity point, her passive sensors telling her things she hadn’t wanted to know about the enemy defences. The sudden bombardment had done some damage, but much less than she’d hoped. There were more mines, lurking close to the point; others seemed to have been laid in ever-expanding circles, although she wasn’t sure if that was any good. Mines grew progressively less and less useful the further they were laid from the gravity point. Someone could simply move around the field and avoid engagement, or clear it easily with railgun pellets. Beyond them, a handful of fortresses - they’d probably been towed from the inner worlds - maintained a wary watch on the gravity point. And, beyond them ...

  Her blood ran cold as she silently counted the alien ships. Seven entire squadrons of battleships, backed up by almost a thousand smaller ships. Mercado was a good place to make a stand - there were four gravity points in the system, all of which were vitally important to the galactic economy - but she wished the enemy had been less perceptive. They probably believed that the human ships would spread into the inner worlds if Mercado fell, even if they didn’t head to Tokomak Prime itself. A combination of luck and judgement could tear the entire empire in half. If the human ships could be stopped, they had to be stopped here. The alternative was unthinkable for a race that believed it couldn’t possibly lose.

  Not good, she thought. The defences grew larger and larger. They didn’t look that firm - the enemy formation looked ragged - but they had enough firepower that it probably wasn’t going to matter. And they were on the alert, their active sensors ruthlessly quartering space for threats. She was grimly aware they might find her, if they looked directly at her. They could force us to fight a real battle for this system.

  She spread her sensors wide, studying the live feed. The entire system was alive, thrumming with activity. Hundreds of freighters moved between the gravity points and the planets, or dropped into FTL and rushed into interstellar space. She could see thousands of asteroid settlements and industrial nodes scattered across the system, each one part of a giant industrial base that was - if her communications analysis was correct - being turned into a war machine. She shuddered as she ran the calculations, trying to determine just how much war material the system could produce. The answer was depressingly high. Admiral Teller might have to take the system quickly, or not at all.

  And yet, there were signs that all was not well. Reports of police activity, communications blackouts ... hints and tips that the planets might be on the verge of revolution. The news reports were dull to the point of threatening to put her to sleep - they didn’t even mention the antimatter bombardment - but the low-power channels were much more interesting. It was impossible to determine just how many of the threatened uprisings were real, yet ... it was clear trouble was brewing. She found herself studying the planetary rings through long-range sensors. What would happen if the entire system exploded into violence?

  Mass slaughter, she told herself, as she steered a course back to the gravity point and readied a drone. She was careful to keep her distance from the battleships. If we didn’t get here in time, we’d have to watch helplessly as billions of people died.

  She composed herself as she launched the drone, hoping the enemy wouldn’t detect it before it entered the gravity point and vanished. Mercado’s defenders were on alert, their sensors constantly sweeping space ... the drone was tiny, but they might just see it before it could escape. And then ... she put the thought aside as she prepared for her role in the operation, waiting for the signal that would tell her when to begin. It wasn’t easy coordinating an operation across hundreds of light years - there was no way Admiral Teller could send her a detailed message - but they’d planned as carefully as they could. The signal itself would be impossible to miss.

  And now I wait, she thought. And get ready to move.

  ***

  “That’s a tough defence,” Colin mused, as the drone’s report was downloaded into the main display. “But pretty much what we were expecting.”

  He made a mental note to compliment the analysts. They’d studied the captured files, then put together a picture of what Mercado could do in its own defence. They hadn’t been entirely right - Mercado could have moved more battlestations to defend the gravity point - but they’d done enough. It was unfortunate that the enemy fleet was keeping its distance, yet ... he shrugged. They’d assumed as much, when they’d drawn up the plan. The enemy was unlikely to put his own head on the block. What sort of idiot would commit suicide on demand?

  Unless they’re desperate, he reminded himself. If they lose this system, they’re going to lose direct contact with large swathes of territory. It’ll take them years to rebuild even if we all drop dead tomorrow.

  He glanced at Karan’s back. “Commander. Are the assault pods ready to go?”

  “Aye, Admiral.” Karan didn’t look up as her fingers danced over the console. “I’ve updated their targeting systems. The fortresses won’t know what hit them.”

  “I think the survivors probably will,” Colin said, dryly. He took a long breath, feeling the weight of command falling around his shoulders. “You may fire when ready.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Governor-Admiral Pentode hadn’t expected much from his posting to Mercado. A hundred years or so as the governor, wearing his admiral’s hat as little as possible, followed by a return to Tokomak Prime and the resumption of a steady climb to the very top of the heights of power. His life had been mapped out for him right from birth, his family and clan resting their hope in his career as they struggled for influence on Tokomak Prime and power in the galaxy itself. None of them had ever envisaged their great hope suddenly finding himself on the front lines of a war ... of course, he told himself from time to time, a great deal had happened that his parents and ancestors had never expected. The Empress sending his grandparents and great-grandparents to a retirement home, for example.

  He would have smiled at the thought of being free, for the first time in his life, if he hadn’t known the risks. The Empress had made it brutally clear to him, when she passed through the system for the first time, that she wouldn’t hesitate to relieve him if he failed to come up to her exacting standards. And, the second time she’d come through the system, she’d ordered him to defend his system and fight to the last ... or he’d wish he’d been killed by the human barbarians. Pentode had taken the threat seriously. The Empress might have lost most of her power, but she was still formidable. And none of her ‘advisors’ would lift a single hand to help him if she decided to kill him.

  The display glowed, showing where the enemy antimatter pods had detonated, setting off a chain reaction that had devastated his minefields. Pentode hadn’t expected the antimatter mines to do more than slow the enemy for a few seconds, but as the time ticked on and no enemy ships materialised, it had become amazingly clear that the enemy had merely intended to harass him. Pentode cursed the humans savagely as he watched his ships and personnel wear themselves to the bone, struggling to hold the line. There was no way any of them wo
uld be ready for combat when the humans finally showed their hand.

  He allowed his expression to darken as he studied - again - the reports from the last engagement. Raw data was lacking. What little had been forwarded to him was almost completely useless. The humans had taken out an entire squadron, giving the ships and crews no time to either return fire or surrender, but how? They shouldn’t have been able to target their missiles so accurately. Pentode had heard the increasingly nasty rumours, but he hadn’t believed them. Not until now. The humans were revoltingly ingenious and they were going to get a lot of his people killed.

  And yet, he had to hold. The system was vitally important. It could not be abandoned or ... he tried to think of the consequences, only to find himself caught in a trap. The consequences were unthinkable. He’d go down in history as the single worst failure his people had ever produced, even if ... no, it was unthinkable. The humans had to be stopped. And he’d do it, or die trying.

  Still, he told himself. They have to come through the gravity point.

  The thought calmed him, as well it might. There were hundreds of light years between the two gravity points, a distance that could be crossed in an instant if a ship jumped through the points, but one that would take months in FTL. The humans would want to surprise him, he was sure, yet ... how could they do it? He knew where they’d appear, unless they wanted to spend months crawling from N-Gann to Mercado. He rather hoped they would. If he had a few months, he could make the system impregnable.

  An icon appeared in front of him, right on top of the gravity point. A missile-sized object ... he swore as a gunboat swooped towards it, only to be obliterated when the antimatter containment field was switched off and matter met antimatter, the resulting blast destroying all traces of the gunboat. His bulging eyes twitched as he studied the sensor feed, wondering just what the humans were doing. They’d already done all they could with antimatter pods. He had no intention of stopping them if they wanted to waste their antimatter on targets that were already dust and less than dust, but it was odd. The humans could hardly afford to waste their resources.

  His confusion grew as the last traces of the blast died away. There was no sustained bombardment, no horde of missile pods looking for targets ... had the antimatter pod been launched by accident? He was well aware of how scavenger races could kill themselves - and others - by experimenting with technology they didn’t understand, but the humans weren’t that stupid. They couldn’t improve upon their technology if they didn’t understand it. And yet ... maybe it had been an accident. No other explanation seemed to fit ...

  Red icons appeared, behind him. For a moment, Pentode refused to believe what his eyes were seeing. The humans couldn’t have sneaked a fleet behind him, not unless they’d designed and built FTL drives an order of magnitude faster even than courier boats! It was impossible! And yet, the icons were falling into attack formation, readying themselves to take him from the rear and punch through to the gravity point. He’d drawn up his plans on the assumption the enemy would come through the gravity point ...

  He got control of himself with an effort, pushing the sense of gibbering panic out of his mind. “Rotate the fleet,” he ordered. The enemy had caught him by surprise, but they hadn’t won. Not yet. Not ever. “And prepare to engage!”

  A low shudder ran through the battleship as she slowly rotated on her axis, bringing her weapons to bear on the human targets. Pentode felt an ugly sense of glee burning away the last of his shock as he realised the humans had made a serious mistake. They could have slipped closer, right into sprint-mode engagement range, if they’d had the nerve. Instead, they’d given him time to prepare. He felt his jaws open wide as the range started to shorten rapidly. He’d give them a beating they wouldn’t forget; he’d stop them dead ...

  “Close the range,” he ordered. Another shudder ran through the deck. “And fire on my command.”

  His eyes narrowed still further as the human ships slowed. That was odd. They should be picking up speed, trying to engage him before he was fully ready. He had nearly four times as many ships ... they had their technical innovations, but numbers like that would be telling even if the humans had far superior weapons. Instead, they seemed intent on prolonging the engagement. Did they want him to win? Doubt assailed him as he realised things were looking really odd. Was he being drawn out of position instead?

  And then the tactical display changed again.

  ***

  Seven hundred assault pods made transit in a single heartbeat, thirty-nine of them interpenetrating and vanishing in eye-tearing flashes of light. The remainder orientated themselves and opened fire, using the targeting data they’d uploaded from the stealth drone. Six thousand missiles lanced through space, rocketing towards the fortresses. The enemy point defence picked off several dozen, but the remainder kept coming, crashing into the fortresses with terrifying force. One by one, their shields collapsed and missiles struck their bare hulls, tearing them to shreds.

  Five minutes after the assault pods arrived, none of the fortresses remained intact.

  ***

  Hameeda almost laughed as the entire enemy fleet seemed to flinch. A cooler commander might have feared she was luring them out of position, while a less imaginative commander might have stood her ground and waited for her to come to him ... instead, she noted calmly, the enemy battleships had been caught between two fires. And, to add insult to injury, one of the fires was nothing more than ECM drones and sensor ghosts.

  And now you probably suspect the truth, she thought. The enemy ships were still following her, like ducklings following their mother, but she was pretty sure that was just inertia. They might be able to snatch a victory if they destroyed a real fleet, yet ... the real fleet was behind them, just starting to make transit now. What would they do when the penny finally dropped? They could take out Hameeda and the LinkShip and they’d still be fucked when Admiral Teller deployed his fleet. What are you planning to do?

  She was tempted, as the enemy ships opened fire on sensor ghosts, to simply turn the drones off and laugh in their collective face as they realised they’d been screwed. It wouldn’t be long before they realised their missiles weren’t doing anything, or that her ships weren’t shooting back. They’d pretty much have to draw the correct conclusion and then ... she saw the first hints of confusion amongst the enemy position, the first discreet suggestions the enemy commander was hopelessly out of it. She guessed there was an angry argument going on, in or out of the commander’s brain. What should he do?

  No, she corrected herself. What would he do?

  ***

  Pentode found it hard, so very hard, to muster any sort of coherent response to the disaster unfolding behind him. Nineteen fortresses, enough firepower to stand off any reasonable threat, had been smashed to atoms, buried under enough missiles to destroy a force two or three times their size. He tried to take hope in the thought of just how many missiles the humans had expended, but it wasn’t enough. His ships were out of place; the second human fleet was making transit and the first was ...

  His thoughts felt sluggish, as if he’d been using direct brain stimulation, but one thing was clear. The first human fleet wasn’t firing back. Why? The answer jolted him out of his stupor. The first enemy fleet wasn’t firing because it couldn’t fire. He’d been tricked, lured out of place by enemy drones. And that meant he wasn’t in quite as bad a mess as he’d thought. There were still options.

  “Rotate the fleet,” he ordered. “Reverse course. Immediately.”

  He ignored the gasps of shock as he studied the reports from the gravity point. No commander in his right mind would present the enemy with his rear, in the certain knowledge that it would be easy for the enemy to shoot a missile up his fundament, but if there were no enemy ships behind him ... he snapped out orders as the fleet moved, retreating back to the gravity point at sublight speeds. The humans had timed it well, damn them. He didn’t have the time to drop into FTL before it was too late.
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  “They’re not firing,” an operator said. “I ...”

  “They’re not real,” Pentode snarled. The deception was good, an order of magnitude better than anything in his arsenal, but they couldn’t fake missiles. They couldn’t even fake ships being struck with missiles. “They tricked us!”

  He forced himself to watch as the humans expanded their grip, sending their ships through in a steady stream of dangerously-close transits. He’d seen something like it before, but only when the ships were crewed by expendable servitors. Here ... it was a minor miracle that none of the human ships collided with another. He would have been impressed if it hadn’t been so damn dangerous. His only hope - now - was to bull his way to the gravity point and sit on it, shooting anything that poked its way through the twist in time and space. And even that was risky. The humans could fire more missile pods through the gravity point and blow hell out of him.

  “Admiral,” a subordinate said. “I’m picking up a request for orders from the planet.”

  “Tell them to wait,” Pentode snapped. He didn’t have time to deal with petty little requests from his staffers, not now. If he didn’t secure the gravity point, the system was doomed. He forced himself to consider other options, perhaps a simple retreat back to the next system, but ... he knew it would lead to his immediate execution. “I ...”