“I see.” Neola couldn’t quite hide her irritation. “And where do you suggest we make our stand?”
“Gateway,” Coordinator Hakav said. “It is perhaps the best place to bottleneck them.”
“Perhaps,” Neola said. She had to admit he had a point. Gateway, one jump corewards from the Twins, would be a good bottleneck. The Twins themselves would be better, but the local population was untrustworthy and the astrographics dangerously unstable. Better to force the humans to fight their way through a bottleneck than risk an engagement that maximised human advantages. “They’ll be bled white if they hit the Twins anyway.”
“The Twins would put your ships too far from the homeworld,” Admiral Kyan said. “We don’t know for sure which route they’ll take.”
Neola was sure. The humans knew time wasn’t on their side. If they thought they could batter their way straight up the chain, without any clever tricks and side trips that would add hundreds of light years to the journey, they’d do it. And she was morbidly certain they thought they could punch through her defences. They’d taken a handful of worlds everyone had known were impregnable. They’d come up with weapons that turned gravity points into death traps.
But they’re not gods, she told herself, firmly. They can be surprised. They can be beaten.
She looked up at him. “Is this the will of the entire council?”
“Yes.” Coordinator Hakav sounded very certain. “We do not intend to let them get any closer to the core than strictly necessary.”
And you’ll blame me for any failures, Neola thought. She rather suspected she knew how he’d sold it to the rest of the council. She wondered if he realised they’d been clever enough to make sure he took the blame, if things went wrong. You wretched piece of ...
She felt a hot flash of anger, mingled with grim respect. She could see the outline of his plan now, a piece of low cunning that wouldn’t have been out of place amongst the previous governors of the empire. Either she won, in which case they would share the credit, or she’d be dead. They’d come out ahead whatever happened, unless the humans won the war. But they probably thought she’d take enough of a bite out of the human ships to allow the defenders of the homeworld to finish the job. They might even be right.
“It will take at least three weeks to ready the fleet,” she said. They didn’t have time for political games. “By then, the human advance should be clearer. I can move to intercept where possible.”
“We quite understand,” Coordinator Hakav said. “We have every faith in you.”
“But we also need to tighten the defences here,” Neola continued. “And at Gateway itself, even if it means stripping defences from other systems. The humans must not be allowed to gain even a tiny foothold here or everything will be lost.”
“The defences are immense and impregnable,” Coordinator Hakav insisted. He waved a hand at the ceiling. “Aren’t they?”
“The humans have shown themselves very capable at battering down defences that were believed to be impregnable,” Neola reminded him. “And even if they fail, the mere fact the attack was made will destroy our reputation once and for all. This system has never been attacked. Not once, not ever. And if that changes ...”
She paused to allow her words to sink in. “We have to admit, here if nowhere else, that the universe will never be the same again. Our dominance will not remain unchallenged, even if we win this war. We have to make some hard choices and stick to them, whatever the cost.”
“We cannot pay any costs,” Coordinator Hakav rumbled. “There are limits ...”
“And if we don’t, the cost we will pay is the complete destruction of our society,” Neola said, bluntly. It was high time they realised that they were playing with antimatter, that their entire society had been playing with antimatter for centuries. And now it was catching up with them. The slightest mistake could prove fatal. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get to work.”
Chapter Twenty
The star had no name, merely a catalogue number that had been assigned thousands of years ago by alien astronomers who’d surveyed the system and decided it was largely useless. It was effectively alone in space, save for a handful of asteroids, a pair of comets and a single gravity point. The researchers had speculated, during the short period of time they’d searched for a second gravity point, that the first wasn’t really associated with the star at all. But they’d left the system - and the puzzle - behind when it became clear there wasn’t a second gravity point to be found.
Hoshiko stood in the observation blister and gazed towards the star. It was a single dot of light, seemingly identical to the remainder of the sea of stars. She wouldn’t have been sure it was the right star if the blister’s HUD hadn’t marked it out for her. It looked completely insignificant, nothing more than a pinprick. She found it hard to believe that even the smallest star was still immense, compared to a human-compatible planet. But she knew it was true.
The hatch hissed open behind her. She didn’t turn. She knew who it was.
“Admiral,” General Edward Romford said. “The assault force is deployed and ready to go.”
Hoshiko nodded, without looking away from the sea of stars. “You’ll be making the plan up as you go along,” she said, warningly. “Are you sure you’re ready?”
“We know the basics,” Romford assured her. “And we shouldn’t have any problems dealing with any unpleasant surprises.”
Hoshiko turned to face him. “And if things go wrong?”
“We have contingency plans,” Romford said. “Worst case, they know we’re on the move sooner than we’d like.”
“I know.” Hoshiko had run the simulations time and time again, giving the enemy as many advantages as possible. The operation should still work, assuming the enemy didn’t have an unexpected surprise up their sleeve. But she would prefer to delay the moment of truth as long as possible. “Ideally, I want them to know nothing about our advance until it’s too late.”
Romford snorted. “Why do I have the feeling I’m being given an invitation to Culloden?”
“I dread to imagine,” Hoshiko said. She made a show of looking at her wristcom. “The lead squadron will depart in one hour. You and the assault force will come in afterwards.”
“And if you fail to secure the gravity point,” Romford said, “there won’t be any need for us.”
Hoshiko scowled. She’d sent a pair of freighters through the system, on the pretext of using the gravity point to cut hundreds of light years off their journey. There was a lone enemy starship sitting on top of the gravity point, a surprisingly large picket for such an unimportant sector, and a fortress on the far side. It bothered her. The Tokomak had no logical reason to fortify the gravity point, unless they expected trouble. Maybe they were just being unimaginative. If so, it had - for once - worked out in their favour. The fortress had to be taken out quickly, before it could raise the alarm. Or all hell would break loose.
We can take out the fortress easily, she thought. Her ships carried enough assault pods to make short work of a dozen fortresses. Admiral Webster had warned her it was only a matter of time until the enemy devised countermeasures, but ... she hoped she was definitely inside the enemy OODA loop. But if we do something so noticeable, the planet itself might raise the alarm.
She put her doubts and fears aside and straightened. It was time to make war.
“Good luck, General,” she said. “And don’t get killed out there.”
Romford snapped her a jaunty salute. “I’ll try my level best, Admiral,” he said. “And if I do get killed, you can just dig me up and put me back to work.”
Hoshiko snorted as Romford turned and left the blister, the hatch hissing closed behind him. She would have been happier if Romford wasn’t leading the mission in person - he was too high-ranking to expose himself to enemy fire - but he’d insisted, pointing out the tactical and morale advantages. Hoshiko wasn’t impressed. She would have flown her flag on the first ship through
the gravity point if she hadn’t known the fleet couldn’t have afforded confusion over who was actually in command. There were enough horror stories about the real commanding officer, the poor bastard who’d succeeded to command after his superiors had been killed, being utterly unaware he was in command until it was too late ... she shook her head. Her fleet was a well-drilled machine, with both a primary and secondary chain of command. They’d practiced handling confusion in combat ...
Except emergency drills regularly leave out the emergency, she reminded herself, sourly. We really shouldn’t try it under combat conditions.
She put the thought aside as she turned and peered through the blister, trying to pick out the remainder of the fleet in the inky darkness of space. There were no running lights, nothing that might give them away to a prowling picket ... as unlikely as it was they’d run into a picket out here. She knew the ships were there, over two thousand of the most powerful warships anyone had ever produced, but she couldn’t see them. Defiant might as well be alone in the universe. On a cosmic scale, she was. The entire fleet was little more than a grain of sand compared to the immensity of the universe.
An odd feeling welled up inside her. She suppressed it with an effort as she turned and stepped through the hatch, pacing down to the CIC. Officers moved everywhere with practiced urgency, the display updating rapidly as the fleet readied itself for war. Hoshiko waved down the marine guard’s attempt to announce her as she took her chair, casting her eye over the final set of readiness reports. She hadn’t wasted the weeks in transit - they’d carried out hundreds of drills, all simulated - but she knew her crew would have lost their edge. Hopefully, they’d have sharpened up by now. They knew the next set of missiles flying at them were going to be real.
Yolanda turned to face her. “Admiral. The fleet is ready for deployment.”
“Good.” Hoshiko studied the display, hoping and praying that none of her officers had done a little creative editing when they’d written their reports. She understood the determination not to let one’s fellows down, but she couldn’t risk sending an unready starship through the gravity point. “Inform Admiral Hanker that he is to assume command of Force Two. If he doesn’t hear from us on schedule, he is to proceed as planned.”
And the only reason he won’t hear from us is things going spectacularly wrong, she thought, as Yolanda turned to carry out her orders. And if that happens, he’ll have to punch his way through the gravity point and rush to Tokomak Prime.
She turned her attention to the secondary display. The tethers were in place. They couldn’t move any closer to the star without risking detection, but ... the enemy wouldn’t see anything amiss if they saw a single freighter heading towards the gravity point. It might be in an isolated region of space, but it wasn’t that isolated. Her lips curved into a smile as she battled the impulse to walk to the bridge and take command personally. But it would be a serious breach of custom and etiquette. And yet, she missed being in command of a ship. Perhaps, just perhaps, she could find a way to get herself demoted to captain and assigned to a whole new starship. But anything that would get an admiral summarily demoted would probably also get her dishonourably discharged from the navy.
Maybe I can convince the navy that I should be rotated back onto a starship’s bridge from time to time, she thought. Just so I don’t forget what’s important while I’m resting my ass behind a desk.
A timer appeared on the display, counting down to FTL. Hoshiko tensed, telling herself that everything had been planned as carefully as possible. The plan didn’t depend on absolute perfection. There was plenty of leeway for when things went wrong, as they inevitably would ... she sucked in her breath, trying not to think about how much rested on her. She dared not lose. She would not lose.
“FTL in ten seconds,” Yolanda said. “The remainder of the fleet is standing by.”
Hoshiko nodded, stiffly. There was no point in issuing orders now. They would only cause confusion at the worst possible time. Everyone knew what to do, when the time came to do it. She felt oddly like a spectator, watching from the sidelines as her subordinates went to work. She reminded herself, sharply, that she was still on the ship. If Defiant was destroyed, she’d go with it.
“Five seconds,” Yolanda said. “Four. Three ... two ... one ...”
A jerk ran through the ship. The display blanked. Hoshiko felt an unpleasant sensation - she couldn’t put it into words - as the tiny convoy picked up speed. The freighter was the largest they’d been able to capture and repurpose, but her drives were civilian-grade and her maintenance hadn’t been too good. Hoshiko was inclined to wonder if the Tokomak sometimes deliberately mistuned their drives. It might deter their subordinate races from travelling from world to world ...
Or maybe they just don’t react to FTL, she thought. She’d always had the impression that FTL was universally disturbing, but ... perhaps not. The Tokomak were hardly inclined to make themselves suffer if it could be avoided. If they don’t see it as a problem, they’re not likely to attempt to fix it.
“We’re entering detection range now,” Yolanda warned. “They’ll see the freighter.”
“But not the warships behind it,” Hoshiko said. The Tokomak should only see one FTL signature. But ... she’d heard the researchers were trying to find ways to pin down FTL signatures that were larger and more inefficient than they should be. The Tokomak had to be trying to do the same for themselves. God knew they’d used freighters to sneak warships into attack range themselves. “They shouldn’t be on the alert.”
The starship shuddered slightly as she struck the star’s gravity shadow, dull rumbles rocketing through the hull. Hoshiko tried to keep her unease off her face as the rumbling grew louder, the starship unable to compensate for the gravitational fluctuations without her FTL drive. She felt as if she were no longer in control, no longer able to shape her destiny ... it was funny, she’d often felt, that she was as brave as a lion when she was in control, but a coward when someone else held the reins. Her childhood had been marred by constant fights over who had the right to take the lead.
And it’s all an illusion anyway, she thought, glumly. If a shuttlecraft hits something really dangerous, or gets targeted by an enemy missile system, it doesn’t matter who has their hands on the controls.
“Ten seconds,” Yolanda said. “Admiral ...?”
“Proceed as planned,” Hoshiko ordered. It wasn’t as if they could do anything else, now. They’d been committed from the moment they’d entered detection range. “The crew knows what to do.”
The last seconds ticked away. Defiant slammed back into realspace with a violence that surprised her, as if space itself had crumbled beneath the ship and sent her falling to an impact that was both utterly destructive and completely harmless. The gravity field seemed to flicker, the compensators screaming as they struggled to hold the ship together. She felt sweat prickle on her back as red icons flared on the status display, fading away seconds later as the datanet realised the ship was undamaged. A green icon glowed brightly. The cloaking field hadn’t fluctuated. The enemy picket should have no idea they were there.
“One enemy ship detected, as expected,” Yolanda said. “She’s holding station on the gravity point.”
Hoshiko studied the passive sensors - and the live feed from the freighter, which had cut the warships loose and was now gliding towards the gravity point. She’d considered having the freighter take them all the way to the point, but an alert enemy watchman might have noticed the freighter was wallowing heavily and asked the right questions. They had to know what Odyssey had done, when she’d escaped the Harmonies and fought her way to safety. And here, with so few ships using the gravity point regularly, it was practical to search each and every ship that wanted to transit. She had no doubt they’d try, if they thought they had a reason to be suspicious. It was what she would have done.
The drives hummed as Defiant crept forward, inching towards the gravity point. Hoshiko braced herself, knowi
ng she was a spectator. The ball - and tactical command - was in the captain’s hands. The enemy ship seemed blind to their presence, but her active sensors were sweeping space with predictable regularity. They might just pick up something, no matter how good the cloaking devices were. And then ... Hoshiko wasn’t sure what the Tokomak would do. Jump through the gravity point at once, even though they might be seeing things, or focus their sensors? If the latter, she’d have to fire at once and hope for the best. The lone starship - a cruiser, judging by its sensor emissions - could obliterate her entire squadron, if it caught her without shields.
That would be embarrassing, she thought, sourly. Admiral Hanker would never know what happened to us.
“Entering firing range now,” Yolanda reported. “They don’t look to have seen us.”
Hoshiko said nothing. Her heartbeat was so loud she had problems believing the enemy couldn’t hear it. The closer they got, the greater the chance of complete success ... but the greater the chance of being detected and blown away before they could raise their shields. If there was a cool customer over there, tracking her ships through passive sensors, he could be waiting for her to come just a little closer. She asked herself, sardonically, who’d come up with the plan. Her, of course. It was funny how much cleverer it had seemed when they were running through the simulations ...
Their Last Full Measure Page 20