Starcruiser Polaris: Nothing Left To Lose

by Richard Tongue

   “I expect far better from my senior staff than to publicly argue in a corridor. You're meant to set a good example for the rest of the crew.” Looking at the two of them, he added, “We're an hour from battle. A battle I intend to win, with or without your help. I suggest you both return to your cabins and prepare.” Schmidt made to speak, but he said, “Dismissed. And Lieutenant, I would very strongly recommend you obey my orders.”

   Turning on his heel, he walked into his cabin, waiting for the door to close before tossing his jacket untidily to the bed, sitting down at his desk. He reached for his coffee pot, swirling around the dregs in a bid to coax one more mug, gagging at the tepid liquid as it hit his throat. He reached across to a keyboard, entering in a command sequence to call up the security logs for the corridor, to replay the conversation his two subordinates had concluded. As he worked through the pass codes, he sighed. One more compromise. He shouldn't be having to spy on his own people. Trust was implicit, or it was meaningless. He almost canceled the command, ashamed at himself for having to consider this, but ultimately, the decision had already been taken for him.

   All records for the last hour had been wiped from the system. Using a command authorization. There were backups, but he'd have to go through the Political Officer to get them, and somehow he didn't think that Lieutenant Petrova would be especially cooperative. More likely she'd only use it as some sort of a weapon. His brief hopes flickered out. She was just another Blackjack, out for her own interests. Maybe sincere, in a way, but more concerned with advancing through the ranks than actually helping the Federation.

   Though perhaps her dream was worth dreaming, he pondered as he lay on his bed, determined to catch a few moments of rest before the battle was set to begin. It would be nice to live in a world where he didn't have to worry about his junior officers stabbing him in the back, ready and willing to trample over him in the pursuit of meaningless power.

   Somehow, he was going to find a way to win. Despite Schmidt, McGuire, Petrova and all the rest of them. He was going to defeat Polaris, and use that victory to advance through the ranks himself, maybe make a stand against the growing cancer at the heart of the Federation. Perhaps it wasn't too late for it all to be made right, for the hopes of the original Revolution to become reality once again.

   He looked up at the clock, one last time. In fifty-five minutes, either he or his father would be on their way to the deaths, at the hands of the other. And there was nothing he could do to change that fact. He was going to do his best to destroy his father and his ship. Or die in the attempt.

  Chapter 16

   “Commander on the deck,” Norton said, the bridge crew standing to attention as Curtis walked through the doors, making his way to the command chair at the heart of the action. Saxon was standing to one side, nodding as he approached, taking the old Political Officer's station. Rojek looked across from Tactical, a smile on his face.

   “All systems are ready, Commander. All decks cleared for action. We're good to go.”

   “Emergence in four minutes, sir,” Norton added.

   “What's the status of your strike crew, Major,” Curtis asked, turning to Saxon. She frowned for a second, then nodded, glancing down at her panel.

   “Shuttle's loaded and ready. As soon as we enter the system I'll be heading down there to join them.” She paused, then added, “I think I can get us through the satellite network. The fighters are going to be another story.”

   “Leave those to Polaris. We'll see that you get to the station. After that, we'll be counting on you getting those birds under control as fast as you can. Every minute will count. I'll send in reinforcements if I can.”

   “Understood,” she replied, a smile on her face. “Don't worry, Commander. I'll do my part.”

   Picking up a headset, Curtis said, “Felix, connect me through to the entire ship.”

   Throwing a control, he replied, “You're on, sir.”

   “This is the Commander,” Curtis began. “In a little under four minutes, we're going to be arriving at Sinaloa Station. Most of you have been there before. Last time we had to flee for our lives on Hanoi. This time we're going back with a Starcruiser, and this time we're not going to run. Our goal is to take this station, and to hold it. The rebellion that we have all been working towards begins today, right here, at Sinaloa.”

   “We're ready for this. Today we go to battle with the forces of the Federation on equal terms. And I know, with this crew, this ship, that we're going to win. So take a good long look, and make sure that you remember everything that happens today, because at some time in the future, you're going to bore your grandkids to death with this story.” A low chuckle rumbled from the bridge. “I am proud to serve with each and every one of you. Nobody forced you into this fight.” He glanced at Saxon, and continued, “You are here because you have chosen to be here, because you are willing to sacrifice your lives for the future. Nobody can ask more of you. Good hunting.” Placing the headset down on the counter, he looked up at the crew, and said, “That goes for all of you.”

   “I've scavenged together an additional turret crew, Commander,” Rojek said. “We should be able to fire four turrets in multiple salvos, for a while, anyway. Though if we get any damage at all to those systems, there's no way to fix them. We're going to have to make this a short fight.”

   “Just the kind I like,” Curtis replied. “How long, Roxy?”

   “Seventy seconds, sir.”

   Tapping a control, he asked, “All systems 'go' down in engineering, Moretti?”

   “We're as ready as we're going to be. Try not to hurt my ship too much. We're only keeping everything working through spit and hope as it is.”

   “I'll do the very best I can, Lieutenant.” Turning to Rojek, he said, “Here we go.”

   “Thirty seconds,” Norton replied. “I've plotted an evasive course. Just in case there's an ambush waiting for us on the far side.”

   “They haven't had time,” Rojek said. “We've got them on the run.”

   “Nevertheless,” Curtis added, “You have the call on that, Helm. If you see more enemy ships than we're expecting, don't wait for the order. Get us out of there. And hold a trajectory plot back to the Cinnamon Belt, just in case.” At the surprised look from Saxon, he said, “Would you expect us to go back there again any time soon?”

   “Why? There's nothing there.”

   “I'm rather hoping that the enemy commander has the same gut reaction you did. Besides, it's a last resort. We're going to win this one.” With a confident smile, he relaxed into his chair, and said, “Sensors to full strength as soon as we enter the system. Norton, assuming all is well, lock into a course taking us directly towards the station. Rojek, warn any civilian traffic to clear the battlespace. My guess is they will anyway, but I'd rather avoid any collateral damage today.”

   “Emergence!” Norton said, and Polaris lurched as the ship dived out of warp, the Tau Drive's field dissipating to reveal the stars beyond, with the shining emerald orb of Coronado centered on the display. Curtis looked out at it with a smile, then turned to Rojek.

   “What's the story, Felix?”

   After a few seconds, he replied, “Three fighters in the air. Looks like a normal patrol. Heading our way.” He paused, then said, “Launch doors opening on the station. Estimate nine more fighters in the air. They're not waiting to move into formation, though. Just heading in as they are. Careless. The defense satellites are activated, ranging in our direction, but there are a couple of gaps. I'm reading a pair of maintenance shuttles, probably trying to get the satellites serviced. Both of them are heading back for the station.” He grinned, and continued, “As is everyone else, sir. It's like the Old West just before a shootout. The locals are heading to the saloon.”

   “Smart people in this system,” Curtis replied.

   “Executing course change,” Norton said. “Locked on intercept course for the s
tation. And the fighters, incidentally. Contact in six minutes, ten seconds.”

   “Time for you to go, Major,” Curtis said, turning to Saxon. “Good hunting.”

   “And to you, Teddy,” she replied, stepping into the waiting elevator. He looked after her for a moment, then shook his head, dismissing the thoughts that had briefly crossed his mind, turning his attention back to the tactical display. Everything looked just as he wanted. Just as his battle plan had required. Almost too perfectly. He looked at the sensor blind shots, one by one snapping into view, the data from the first pass of Montevideo adding to his certainty.

   Sinaloa Station was right there, waiting for them.

   “Fighters moving into dispersed spearhead formation,” Rojek replied. “They've either got a madman or a moron commanding them, and right now, I wouldn't bet on which.”

   Frowning, Curtis said, “Neither. They're trying to lure us in, goad us into launching our fighters. He's still far enough away from contact that he can alter formation at the last minute. Let's throw a scare his way. Open our launch doors.”

   “Aye, Commander,” Rojek replied. “Launch doors opening, cycle sequence green.”

   Curtis watched the screen, waiting for the enemy commander to react. After a few seconds, the incoming formation changed to a more conservative crescent, the leading elements of the formation reducing their acceleration, falling back to join their comrades in the firing line. From the rear, Sokolov glanced up from his communications panel.

   “Should I send the codeword, Commander?” he asked.

   “Not yet, Spaceman,” he replied. “Roxy, alter heading. Hard about. Felix, launch decoy shuttle flotilla.”

   “Aye, sir,” Rojek said, and half-a-dozen targets appeared on the screen, shuttles racing towards the station from Polaris as the ship lurched to the side, seemingly turning back for the gravitational threshold. The fighters waited for a moment, their commander uncertain, and for a heartbeat Curtis feared that he wouldn't take the bait. Finally, either his judgment of that of his superior forced him into action, and the fighter squadron altered course, turning to intercept the shuttles. With a grin, Rojek ramped them up to maximum acceleration, slewing their trajectory to force the fighters to waste their fuel to make an intercept.

   “Seems a pity to waste good ships,” Norton replied.

   “We've got plenty to spare, and once we've taken Sinaloa, we'll be able to load back up again.” He paused, then said, “Sokolov, signal the station, and request their immediate and unconditional surrender. Copy that to the fighters, as well. Let's see if anything interesting shakes down.” Glancing back at the display, he frowned. He didn't have any expectation of a response, and the quick shake of the head from the technician confirmed his belief. They were still putting on a performance, and it was time to begin the next act.

   “Roxy, alter course, back towards the station on a high vector. Felix, what's the story with the fighters?”

   “Closing on the shuttles, one minute to intercept.” He frowned, then added, “They've got to know that it's a trap, sir. It's an obvious decoy move.”

   “But Administrator Wise is now commanding the station, and he's had no military experience. And has something of a reputation for political cowardice. He sees six shuttles flying his way, he's going to order his fighters to shoot them down. Especially with Polaris apparently on its way out of the system.” Turning to Norton, he added, “Time to intercept?”

   “Flyby in eight minutes. Fighters can't catch us before we reach the defensive perimeter. We'll be targeted by Satellites Three and Five on closest approach. Four's still non-operational.”

   “Sokolov, inform Major Saxon that she will be cleared for launch in three minutes, and request that she uses the last of her magic on the defense network.” Looking at the display, he added, “Norton, go for a polar orbital flyby. That should take us close to our fighters.”

   “Roger, sir, calculating course change.”

   He looked around the bridge, watching his crew at their posts. Everything looked just as it had the last time he took Polaris into battle, only a few of the consoles now unmanned. Only he and Rojek were wearing uniforms, the rest in a chaotic collection of jumpsuits and garish civilian clothes, but they still had the same cool competence of his last, dead crew.

   A series of explosions rippled across the screen as the fighters ripped apart the decoy shuttles with massed particle beam barrages. The enemy squadron leader must have suspected the truth, had opted to hold back his missiles for later, but Polaris now had the advantage of speed, could keep ahead of the enemy formation at least until their shuttle had boarded the station.

   Time. Time was the key. They had to secure control of the defense network before reinforcements could arrive, stop the fighters outside from having anywhere to land and refuel. They'd either have to surrender, or simply drift through space until someone picked them up. He looked down at the planet, knowing that Kani was waiting for his call on some storm-tossed shore. Polaris had picked up the wreckage of Montevideo almost as soon as they had arrived in the system, but they hadn't dared risk a signal, not yet. His squadron was their one advantage, and they didn't dare reveal it until the final moment.

   As they closed on the planet, a smile crept across his face. This was working. They'd spent weeks trying to throw the Federation forces off-balance, keep them guessing about their intentions, and as far as they could tell, they'd been successful. Undoubtedly, enemy reinforcements would be on the way, mighty ships moving into position, but a combination of the defense satellites, Polaris, and Kani's fighters should be able to stand them off indefinitely. The outer belt of Coronado was littered with debris, ideal spots for fighter ambushes. With a couple of squadrons, he'd be able to unleash more than enough hell to prevent any siege, break through any blockade with ease.

   “Shuttle away,” Rojek said. “Running true. Right for the defense perimeter. I guess we're about to find out just how good Saxon is.”

   “She pulled this trick once before,” he replied, “and that was a lot harder. Then she had to remotely suborn it. All she needs to do this time is let us pass through.”

   He watched the screen, waiting for Polaris to move into position, the planet growing larger and larger on the display as they approached, the pinpoints of the defense satellites drifting towards their trajectory plot. The shuttle, burning its engine beyond safe limits, raced ahead of them, finally passing through the perimeter.

   Releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding, Curtis said, “Signal Saxon. Great job.”

   “Saxon to Polaris Actual,” the reply came, before she could have heard him. “That wasn't me. I don't know why, but they let us get through. The firewall hardly put up any resistance.”

   “A trap?” Rojek said.

   “How long to the perimeter?” Curtis asked.

   “Thirty seconds,” Norton replied. “Too late to abort. Should I increase acceleration?”

   “No,” he said, shaking his head. “That isn't the answer either. Hold your course.”

   “Teddy,” Rojek warned, “if those satellites open up with their full armament, I don't think our point-defense batteries will be anything like strong enough to stop them.”

   “Hold your course, helm,” Curtis pressed, waiting with everyone else on the bridge for Polaris to sweep through the defenses. As the ship passed into range, the satellites remained dormant, content to simply move to cover them, rather than making any attempt to shoot down. Releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding, Curtis turned to Rojek.

   “Now we need...”

   “Wait one,” Strickland said, looking up at the long-range sensors. “Tau Drive signatures. Someone's heading into the system.”

   “Already?” Rojek asked. “We weren't expecting Canopus for at least an hour.”

   “My boy's no fool,” Curtis replied. “He's worked it out.” Looking up at the sensor disp
lay, he added, “That's a large signature for a single ship.” Space rippled, contacts forming on the monitor, and his eyes widened. He turned to Strickland, and the grim-faced technician confirmed his worst suspicions.

   “Multiple inbound contacts, sir,” he said. “Three Starcruisers, bearing directly. Canopus, Arcturus, and Cygnus.” He paused, then added, “They're launching fighters, sir.”

   “Three Starcruisers,” Curtis said. “I don't think we can take three.”

   “Where the hell did they come from?” Norton replied.

   “Signal from Canopus, sir,” Sokolov said. “We are instructed to surrender and prepare to be boarded.”

   With a wry smile, Curtis replied, “That'll be the day. Helm, bring us around. We haven't lost this battle yet. We still have a significant speed advantage, and we're going to use it.” Reaching for his console, added, “Prepare for multiple course changes, Lieutenant. Let's make the bastards dance to our tune.” He paused, then added, “Strickland, I want to send an encoded message to my son. Person to person, here to Canopus. Stress that it is for his eyes only.”

   “That won't make difference to the security systems,” the technician warned.

   “Just do the best you can, Spaceman. That's all any of us can do. And pray that Cordova's surprise on Canopus is still in play.”

  Chapter 17

   “Right,” Saxon said. “We hit the station in one minute. I've left a little surprise for anyone who decides to play with the shuttle after we've left her, so everyone needs to get out double-time. You've all had a chance to look at the route maps I drew up, so if you get lost, you're on your own.” She glared at Cordova, then added, “Having said that, if you do get separated, try and find your way to a security checkpoint and raise some hell. If you're firing at someone in a ColSec uniform, you're probably doing the right thing.”