“My father died twenty years ago, Sam. Or he might as well have, anyway.” He sighed, then said, “Mom was already gone. I tried to reach out to him, after Mareikuna, but he never replied. I even tried to find him, once, on Titan. Got as far as his usual hangout before the bartender had me thrown out, said that my father had told him to get rid of me.”
“You believe him?”
“Didn't have much choice, and he had a chance to correct that mistake if he wanted. He never did. I spent the next five years out on the frontier. Nothing much on Earth to go back to.”
Frowning, Dietrich asked, “Do you hate him?”
“What?”
“I'm your Exec, Mike. I've got to know. We can't allow personal feelings to get in the way. You know that better than anyone I know, but if you're going...”
“No, Sam, I don't hate him. Maybe once, but not any more.” He smiled, and added, “I'm proud of the man he used to be. The man he is now is a stranger, and not one that I think I want to know. I've spent my life serving the Fleet. Frankly, it's the only family I've ever known.” Turning to Dietrich, he asked, “Does that answer your question?”
“I guess so,” he replied.
“Attention,” the overhead speaker called. “Attention. Commander to the bridge. All hands to battle stations!”
Without a word, Mike raced for the elevator, Dietrich only a heartbeat behind him, sprinting for the open doors and slamming his hand on the controls to engage the mechanism, sending the two of them racing through the decks towards the command deck.
“They can't be attacking us here,” Mike said, shaking his head. “This is the heart of the Federation, damn it. It's about as likely they'd attack Earth!” Looking around the elevator, he said, “Come on, come on.”
“It's going as fast as it can, Mike,” Dietrich replied. Finally, the doors opened, and the two of them sprinted onto the deck, racing towards the viewscreen, Schmidt and Petrova waiting for them at the tactical display.
“We just received word from sources on the surface that a rebel leader is fleeing the planet on the freighter Lisbon,” Schmidt said. “We have been unable to make contact with the ship, and must therefore assume that it is under rebel control.”
“Why?” Dietrich asked. “It's just as likely that the communications system has been sabotaged.”
“Worst case scenario, Lieutenant,” Mike said. “Launch a squadron to intercept. They're to warn the ship to stand down, and try and disable the engines if needed. And I want a strike team standing by for immediate launch.” Turning to the helm, he added, “Lieutenant Kenyon, intercept course, if you please.”
“Aye, aye, Commander,” the young officer replied, a brief glance back at Schmidt as her hands raced across the controls. Mike settled in his command chair, watching the display as his ship, Canopus, swung around Caledonia towards the target, twelve fighters rushing ahead, hurtling through space in a bid to intercept the freighter before it could reach the gravitational threshold and escape.
“All decks cleared for action, sir,” Schmidt reported. “All turrets ready to fire.”
“Very good, Lieutenant,” Mike said. He frowned for a second, looking around the bridge, his crew at their posts. He'd worked for his whole career to get to where he was now, commanding a Starcruiser of his own, a sister ship to the rogue Polaris. For a moment, he wondered whether his father was sitting in a chair just like his. As much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, he kept comparing himself with his father, and a part of him had wanted this command because he wanted to honor the memory of the man his father had used to be.
And now he was under orders to hunt down the remnants of the man who had raised him, the man who had inspired him to join the Fleet, even after his own downfall. He could push his emotions down, deep inside, but Dietrich was right, at least at one level. He did hate him. He hated what he had become. As though it was a warning about his own future, a road he could find himself walking one day.
“Still no contact from Lisbon,” Petrova said. “The local office of the Commerce Directorate has given us approval to open fire if necessary.”
“Generous of them,” Dietrich replied, shaking his head. “You can inform...”
“Sam,” Mike replied, raising a hand. “Peace. The man is doing his job.” Leaning forward, he said, “Contact Commander Duval, and inform him that I want a precision strike on the target if necessary, and that his forward echelon is to launch a warning shot only. They need to know that we're serious.”
“Sir,” Schmidt said, turning from her station, “We have been given permission to do whatever is necessary to stop this rebel escaping.” Looking back at her console, she added, “Apparently one Donovan Pike, a political radical wanted for sedition and incitement to mutiny. That alone suggests that he has suborned the crew. You cannot give him any chance to escape.”
“I have no intention of permitting that ship to get away, Lieutenant. Mind your station.”
“First fighters firing now, sir,” Dietrich said, six missiles racing towards the target, arcing away at the last moment to harmlessly detonate clear of their hull. He grimaced, turned, and said, “They're holding course, sir.”
“Commander,” the communications technician said. “Cygnus reports that she has a firing solution.”
“Guerrero got back over there pretty quick, didn't she?” Dietrich said.
“Spaceman, have them hold their fire unless...”
“Cygnus has fired, sir!” Schmidt reported, and Mike rose to his feet, watching as the full force of a mass driver salvo raced towards the fleeing freighter. Seconds later, they made contact with the hull, ripping angry gouges along the side, atmosphere spilling out into space from a hundred breaches, tossing the ship about as its engine died, sending the wreck into a long, lazy spin.
“Picking up escape pods, sir,” a subdued Dietrich said.
“Launch shuttles to pick them up, Lieutenant. Make sure the crews are armed.”
“Aye, sir,” he replied.
Stabbing a control, Mike said, “Cygnus Actual, if you ever launch an attack without my direct approval, I'll bust you down so fast that you'll be saluting the waste reclamation crews! Do I make myself clear?”
“I was under...”
“Yes or no, Commander, and if you wish to hold your rank, I would consider your answer with great care.”
“Yes, sir. Understood.”
With a sigh, Mike sat back in his seat, conscious of the glare from Schmidt as he looked over the remnants of Lisbon, a handful of pods racing clear of the expanding debris field. There would be no inquiry, no censure. Many in the Parliament would probably approve of what she did, suggest that she was setting an example to others.
He just felt sick. Dietrich walked up to him, holding a datapad, and said, “Looks like fifteen survivors, sir.”
“Out of?”
“Eighty-two.” He shook his head, and whispered, “Mareikuna,” softly enough that nobody else could hear. He didn't have to. Mike got the message, loud and clear.
Chapter 5
“What's all this about, Teddy?” Rojek asked, as Curtis took his seat at the head of Polaris' conference table. A thick layer of dust coated everything in the room, and the holoprojector was hopelessly wrecked, scavenged to yield components for more critical systems. It didn't matter. This time, words alone would suffice.
“How many have switched sides from Montevideo?” Curtis asked, as Saxon walked into the room, closely followed by Cordova. Behind them, Kani and Moretti followed, six people spread around a table designed to hold twenty-two, emblematic of the deserted ship.
“All but eight,” Saxon replied. “I've gone over my files, and as far as I can tell, they're clean. Unfortunately, they were running light, but we've got another seventeen people to spread across Polaris. Including both Captain Hammond and Doctor Grant.”
“And the fighter pilot who launched that last attack on us,” Kani added. “I had a word with her, and she's willing to join us. It helped that their flight orders made it clear that they were on a one-way mission. The squadron leader was meant to ram Polaris as a last resort, should all else fail.” He frowned, then said, “Apparently a lot of the frontier garrisons are getting pretty disaffected, especially this far from the Commonwealth border. No chances of promotion, poor conditions, limited leave. You could find some recruits out here.”
“Maybe I should go down to Korolevgrad,” Cordova said. “We could stand off in orbit...”
“No,” Curtis replied, shaking his head. “We don't have the time.” He looked around the room, and said, “You all know that we've completed Phase One. What none of you know, as of yet, is what form Phases Two and Three are going to take, but I think the time has come to fill you in on my plan.” He pulled out a datapad, and said, “I've been looking over the intelligence reports we've gathered. According to this report, the prisoners the Federation seized from Polaris during our last visit to Sinaloa Station are to be taken to a maximum security installation for interrogation. I intend to attack that convoy.”
“Wait a minute, Commander,” Cordova protested, a heartbeat before Saxon and Moretti could object. “The report makes it clear that the convoy is a trap, proceeding under heavy escort.”
“True,” Curtis said. “And I'm going to appear to jump right into it, though our objective isn't going to be quite what they expect.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “Phase Two is in two components. While we launch a feint attack on the convoy at EQ Pegasi, Montevideo will be heading back to Sinaloa, with Squadron Leader Kani in command.”
Raising an eyebrow, Kani said, “I've never commanded anything larger than a squadron, sir.”
“And you'll be taking all of your people with you. That ship can be run with a crew of twelve, and that's going to include your pilots. All seven of them, if you can trust your new recruit. To answer your next question, you'll be taking your fighters with you.” Looking around the room again, he added, “Suffice to say, people, that they'll be hiding in the system, ready to launch a surprise attack, and that for everyone except Squadron Leader Kani and myself, you have no need to know how they're going to pull it off. Moretti, I want the fighters and a single shuttle transferred to Montevideo within the hour, along with sufficient fuel and munitions for the fighters to launch a strike. Squadron Leader, I'll make sure you are briefed on the other equipment you'll need, but I believe Montevideo itself is carrying most of it already.”
“Very well, sir.”
“Teddy,” Rojek said, “Are you planning what I think you are planning?”
“You're going to attack Sinaloa,” Saxon said, frowning. “Interesting choice. Strategic, but not overwhelmingly so, and likely with only limited defenses. Taking out that station will do a lot of damage to the frontier systems.”
“You'll kill fifty thousand people,” Moretti protested.
“Close, Saxon,” Curtis replied. “I don't intend to attack Sinaloa Station. I intend to capture it. Intact.” Before anyone could object, he continued, “It's a target that is currently wide open, and one that the Federation won't expect us to choose. We have people with local knowledge, and the orbital defense network is damaged. Added to which is that the system is defensible.”
“You've out of your mind,” Cordova replied. “We're not ready to launch a full-scale attack. Later, perhaps, but...”
“How long are you planning on waiting, Major?” Curtis said. “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but the revolution has already begun. It started the moment we took this ship. The Federation Fleet is already mobilizing against us, and tensions on the border aren't going to stop them hunting us down. Within months at most, more likely weeks, they will find us with sufficient force to destroy us. This little ambush is just the first warning shot across the bow.”
“I agree,” Saxon said. “This ship is too big to hide.”
“But to go up against the Fleet, now...” Moretti protested.
“It was going to happen sooner or later, Lieutenant, no matter what we wanted. Felix, how long did it take us to get to battle stations last time? More than four hours? We can't react to a surprise attack. The only way that we can win a fight is if it is at a time and place of our choosing. Unless we keep the initiative, we've lost. And the only way things are going to change is if we can get enough people on our side to crew this ship properly, and provide a real home base with the facilities we need to support it. Sinaloa is the best choice. Partly because it is the least obvious.”
“We don't have a major network there,” Cordova replied. “A handful of people, but there are half a dozen colonies on the frontier that have a more significant presence.”
“And you can bet that ColSec knows all about them,” Rojek said. “Right, Liz?”
Saxon nodded, and said, “Our policy was usually to leave them intact. Knowing who the ringleaders were made it easier to monitor their activities, and we could always reach down and smash them if we ever had to. No offense, Major.”
“It means, Commander,” Cordova pressed, “that we will be dependent on a citizens' uprising that may or may not happen. If it doesn't, then we have no way to take the station.”
“Good,” Curtis said.
“What?”
“Major, how many people are in the Democratic Underground.” Raising a hand to forestall her protest, he added, “Not exact figures. A rough estimate.”
“Maybe four or five thousand active. Ten to twenty times that passive.”
“High guess is what, a hundred thousand people?” A smile curled his lips, and he said, “Last time I checked, the population of the Federation was a hair under eight and a half billion. Unless the population revolts damn near everywhere, our little rebellion is over before it can even begin.”
“Besides,” Saxon added, “I was under the impression that your entire argument was that the people were crying out for a revolt, were desperate to be free. That's the general idea, isn't it? If the local population doesn't rise up, we don't have any legitimacy in any case.”
“Precisely,” Curtis replied. “On that topic, how many of your people might change sides?”
“We're dependent on ColSec?” Moretti asked, eyes wide.
“Maybe twenty will switch to our side at once. I had suspicions about their true loyalties. Five times that will join us if they think we have a chance of winning. Maybe a hundred will fight to the death for the Federation. As for the rest, they'll just sit this one out.”
“Things are that bad?” Rojek asked. “More than half a security detachment aren't willing to actually fight for their own government?”
“Colonial Security is a paramilitary police force, Lieutenant. Not an army. We aren't trained for it, not properly, and that isn't what we signed up for. I won't say that there aren't those who will fight, but a lot of them aren't willing to die for the Federation. Maybe once. Not any more.” Turning to Cordova, she added, “You might find the local population surprisingly supportive.”
“To return to the briefing,” Curtis said. “Once we've completed our raid on the planned ambush at EQ Pegasi, Polaris will immediately jump to Sinaloa Station and launch our attack. Strike teams comprising as many people as we can spare will launch under the command of Major Cordova. Saxon, you'll be accompanying her as liaison with the local population. Between you and Dixon, I'm counting on your local knowledge to help us.”
“This is insane,” Moretti said, shaking her head.
“I agree,” Cordova replied. “I can't support this. I'm sorry.”
“Fine,” Curtis said. “Door's to your right, and I think there's an escape pod one deck down you can use. The best of luck negotiating with ColSec down on the planet. Maybe Saxon can give you some tips.” He paused, placed his hands on the table, and continued, “This
wasn't intended as a debate or a discussion, people. We're way past that. This decision is mine, and it is made. Major, our agreement, right from the start, was that I commanded Polaris.” He turned to Kani, and asked, “Squadron Leader, will you do your part?”
“Naturally, I want to know the specifics,” Kani replied, “but I'll fly for you. I think it's worth the risk. And it's on the border with the Commonwealth, so we might be able to get some support from my people later on.”
“If we're going to start a revolution, Sinaloa isn't a bad choice,” Saxon added, nodding in approval. “We'll be fighting on my home ground.”
Rojek frowned, then said, “I don't like this, Teddy, and I suspect you don't either. Though I think I'm with you. I don't see that we have any other choice. Oh, we might pick a different target, but we can't get away from the basic reality. Right now, we have a warship that could lead a rebel fleet to victory, but without more people, without a staging area, there isn't that much we can do with this.”
Curtis looked at Cordova, and added, “I know that you'd like more time to prepare, a chance to properly infiltrate a strike force, but we've got an opportunity now that might never come again. We've got the momentum. And if some of the frontier worlds are already warning up to rebel, one real victory will send recruits flocking to our banner.”
“Some will be, already,” Saxon said, turning to Cordova. “You and I both know that there are a lot of hotheads who aren't connected to your network. They'll be making a move regardless of what we think or do. If we act quickly, we can make sure that those sacrifices aren't in vain.” She frowned, then said, “What do we do if a Starcruiser is on guard? I wouldn't rule it out.”
“Neither would I, but again, we've got the advantages. The Federation started with fifteen capital ships to our one, and we already reduced that to fourteen, back at the Cinnamon Belt. I wouldn't object to taking it down to thirteen, and as I said, we'll have surprise on our side.” Leaning forward, he said, “Major, as I said, you will command the strike force. Your mission is simple. Knock out the defense and internal security systems. Not in a smash and grab, but to hold.”
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