At least we’re getting to the point where we can fly in rough formation, she told herself, as the exercise came to an end. The combat datanet had taken a week to set up, then another week of hard practice to operate, but they could fly and fight as a unit now. And they’d worked so many redundancies into the system that it would be hard for the enemy to take it down. As long as everyone cooperates, at least ...
“Record,” she ordered, sending a command to her implants. “Personal for Admiral Stuart, Fleet Command. Admiral. Live fire exercises have proved a success, but there is considerable room for improvement. I intend to keep testing the crews during our flight to Malachi and hold a final set of exercises when we reach the RV point. Unfortunately, there are limits to how much fire our modified freighters can take ...”
She droned on, carefully explaining her decisions and the rationale behind them. Uncle Mongo would understand, she suspected, her decision to place her own life at risk, although it wouldn't stop him chewing her out afterwards - if she survived. She was a Stuart, after all, and flinching from the sound of the guns was not in her blood. Even Uncle Kevin, the spy her little brother had thought was impossibly cool during his early years, had never inched away from getting his hands dirty. Some of the stories he’d told about his days in the service on Earth had fascinated her, even though she was sure they weren't entirely true. How could one man have stopped a war by kidnapping a terrorist from his tent?
“I have weighed up the advantages as well as the disadvantages of my chosen course of action,” she concluded. “There is a considerable risk in putting my life at stake. However, for diplomatic reasons, I believe I have no choice.”
She stopped the recording and uploaded it to the datacore, along with copies of their records and personal messages from the crew to their loved ones. They’d be on their way to Earth before the fleet left Amstar, the last testaments of her crew if something happened to Jackie Fisher. Hoshiko knew there was a prospect of death - Stuarts had fallen in battle before over the years - but she feared losing the war more than she feared losing her life. Building the Grand Alliance was important, yet stopping the Druavroks was rather more so. The evil they represented could not be let loose on the galaxy.
Which means we have to pound the living daylights out of them, she thought. The doctor had finally found a female corpse to dissect, but any hopes Hoshiko might have had about Druavrok females being more rational had swiftly been lost. They were just as bloody-minded as the males. We have to thump them until they’re begging for mercy.
She pushed the thought aside as the recording of the exercise began to repeat itself. The fleet was already working on correcting its weaknesses, although the crews would need real combat experience before they truly understood what they were doing. But then, part of the reason she’d picked their target was that it shouldn't pose too great a challenge, allowing her ships to gain experience without any action risk. Or so she hoped. She knew, better than most, just what could happen when Murphy got a look-in. Whatever could go wrong probably would, at the worst possible time.
The hatch opened with a hiss. Hoshiko turned, just in time to see Ensign Howard peeking into the CIC. “Captain?”
“Ensign,” Hoshiko said. She’d left Howard with Captain Ryman as an aide, gofer and quiet supervisor. The young man would have to grow up very quickly now the squadron was going to war. “What can I do for you?”
Howard looked embarrassed. “Captain, umm ... Commodore Ryman would like to speak with you, if it isn’t too much trouble.”
“It’s not,” Hoshiko said, concealing her amusement with some effort. “Send him to my office. I’ll be along in a few minutes.”
She took one final look around the CIC as the ensign vanished and then walked through the hatch, back to her office. Captain Ryman was waiting outside, looking surprisingly composed; Ensign Howard looked about as nervous as a schoolboy who’d been summoned to meet the principal. Hoshiko kept her amusement under strict control as she opened the hatch - etiquette forbade anyone to enter without her - and led the way into her office. Her steward materialised out of his compartment and shot her an inquiring look.
“Coffee for me and Commodore Ryman,” Hoshiko said. She turned to look at Ensign Howard. Keeping him in the cabin would be torture. “You’re dismissed for the moment, ensign. Go to the galley and request something to eat.”
“Aye, Captain,” Ensign Howard said, too young to hide his relief. “I’ll remain there until summoned.”
He hurried out of the hatch before she could change her mind. Hoshiko shook her head with genuine amusement - she’d probably been just as gauche as a young officer herself - and then looked at Captain Ryman, who shrugged. The merchant spacers were less formal than the Solar Navy. They had to be.
“Please, take a seat,” she said, as the steward returned with two mugs of coffee and a tray of sticky buns. Someone, probably Commander Wilde or Doctor Carr, had told him to make sure Hoshiko ate over the last few days. “I trust the recent courier boats brought good news?”
“The Gloudathua and the Tradresh signed up at once,” Captain Ryman said, taking one of the mugs of coffee and lifting it to his mouth. “They’re deadly rivals, Captain, so neither of them would want to take the risk of allowing the other to gain an advantage. The weapons tech and bypass codes we gave them only sweetened the deal. They’d agreed to earmark a couple of battle squadrons for us apiece if we show them that we can win battles.”
“Understood,” Hoshiko said. “And the Qluyt'yrti?”
“Still unsure what we can do for them,” Captain Ryman told her. “Their representative here is convinced, but her homeworld is rather less concerned about Amstar than you might expect. I suspect they will probably change their minds within the next couple of weeks, Captain, once they see what we’ve done for the others.”
He sighed. “It will be at least another couple of weeks before we hear back from a handful of other homeworlds and races,” he added. “I’m seriously thinking about setting up a permanent headquarters on Amstar. It’s a multiracial world without a single dominate race, so it would serve as a sensible place to set up our base. Martina might serve as a secondary base if necessary, but their ruling council is still arguing over the best course of action.”
“They’ll be in the firing line sooner or later,” Hoshiko pointed out.
“Amstar forced its inhabitants to work together,” Captain Ryman said. “Martina doesn't have a real authority in control of the system. I’m hoping that will change, but it will take time, time they may not have.”
Hoshiko nodded. “Are you planning to remain behind on Amstar?”
“Unless you have someone else lined up to do the diplomatic work,” Captain Ryman said, bluntly. “It also gives me a chance to expand the network of spies. Just asking questions of merchant spacers as they come into port will tell us a great deal more about the enemy, Captain, and the rest of the sector.”
“And let you recruit more spacers,” Hoshiko agreed. “Manpower is going to be a pain in the ass for a long time to come.”
“I’m afraid so,” Captain Ryman said. “We can expand the trade schools now, if you like, even establish new ones, but it will be years before we see a major increase in engineers and other trained experts. Much of what passed for engineering while the Tokomak were in power basically consisted of removing one item from the drives and replacing it with another drawn from spares. If they lacked a spare part ... tough shit.”
“Crazy,” Hoshiko said.
Captain Ryman shrugged. “How many of your officers know how to tear down and rebuild an FTL drive?”
“My engineers do,” Hoshiko said. The Solar Navy paid a higher salary to anyone with a genuine working knowledge of GalTech, which didn't stop them being poached by merchant shippers and commercial concerns. Someone who could modify a Galactic FTL drive, to say nothing of a fabber or orbital defence array, was worth his or her weight in just about anything, if not more. “I’ve always been mor
e interested in the tactical side of space combat, myself.”
“And without the engineers, your ships wouldn't function for long,” Captain Ryman said. “I think the Tokomak didn't want their subjects actually repairing their ships. They may even have been playing silly buggers with the fabbers.”
Hoshiko nodded, remembering one intelligence briefing. There had been a suspicion - never confirmed - that the fabbers included programming to hardwire override codes into everything they produced, allowing the Tokomak to take over the systems at will. The thought of having her command network suddenly stolen from under her was terrifying, given just how dependent she was on the computers. But no amount of investigation had managed to find proof the codes actually existed. Solar Intelligence had eventually concluded the suspicion was little more than a rumour, one intended to keep the subject races from rebelling. What was the point of trying to launch an uprising when one’s ships could simply be deactivated at will?
“We can change that,” she said, simply. Given time, who knew what alien minds would produce? “And we will.”
“There are a number of other issues,” Captain Ryman said, “but all of them are only really important if we manage to defeat the Druavroks. They want some trade deals, either with us or with the ITA, yet ...”
“There’s no point in worrying about that at the moment,” Hoshiko said. They had a war to fight. “Keep the Grand Alliance focused on military matters.”
“I shall certainly try,” Captain Ryman said. He finished his coffee and returned the mug to the tray. “I should tell you, Captain, that I’m very pleased with young Ensign Howard. He handled himself very well in the endless series of meetings down on the planet.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Hoshiko said. She hadn't had time to do more than glance at the reports, but no one had exploded with rage or demanded that the poor ensign be declared persona non grata. “Do you wish him to remain with you or return to the ship for combat duty?”
“I have a small staff now,” Captain Ryman said. “The Pan-Gal had a number of human employees who were willing to work for me. If you want Thomas back, I won’t fight to keep him.”
Hoshiko considered the matter, briefly. She needed every officer she could get on Jackie Fisher, even someone who’d been fresh out of the Academy when the squadron had been dispatched to Martina. Ensign Howard showed promise, at least; a few months of combat duty would give him the practical experience he lacked. But then, diplomatic experience would also be helpful, if he wanted to go into command or diplomatic tracks.
“Unless you have an urgent need for Howard, I’ll take him back for the moment,” she said. It was possible that the ensign would view the transfer as a punishment, although it wasn’t really anything of the sort. Detached duty wouldn't be countered in his favour when the promotions board met. “In any case, we have to defeat the Druavroks at Malachi or the Grand Alliance will come apart before it’s even fairly begun.”
“Agreed,” Captain Ryman said. He glanced at his watch, an old clockwork model that looked old enough to predate Contact. “With your permission, Captain, I’ll beam down to the planet now. My reports - to you and to the ITA - have already been filed. Should the Druavroks return ... well, we can at least give a good account of ourselves this time.”
“Try and keep the locals from bombarding the enclaves,” Hoshiko said, as she rose. “And good luck.”
“I’ll do my best,” Captain Ryman said. He took her hand and kissed it, lightly. “And thank you for everything.”
Hoshiko watched him go, then sat down and closed her eyes as she accessed his reports through her implants. They weren't particularly detailed, but they touched on everything of importance; she smiled, in genuine amusement, when she read the details about what else several races wanted the Grand Alliance to do. A trade deal was one thing, but a semi-united federation of planets was quite another. The idea was attractive, she had to admit, yet it was a far cry from her original plan. Perhaps, once the Druavroks were defeated, they could consider a long-term alliance.
She rose and walked to the bridge, taking her command chair as the starship prepared for departure. The aliens, thankfully, didn't seem to have a problem with being punctual; the fleet status display was showing an endless wall of green icons, with only a handful marked out as yellow for unready and red for disabled. She checked one of them and discovered that an FTL drive had burned out and repair crews were struggling to get the freighter ready to depart on time. It looked unlikely they’d be remotely ready to go, but she decided to see if they made it. The more enthusiastic they were about taking the offensive, the better.
“Captain,” Commander Wilde said, an hour later. “The fleet is ready to depart.”
Hoshiko nodded, studying the display. The alien repair crews had made it, after all, and the freighter was ready to leave with the rest of the fleet. She was a heavy freighter, crammed with missile launchers, but Hoshiko had no illusions. She’d die very quickly if a warship decided to kill her.
But they won’t die for nothing, she promised herself. We’re going to face a genocidal foe.
“General signal to all ships,” she ordered, coolly. “Set FTL drives to the correct coordinates, then prepare to jump to FTL. All ships acknowledge.”
She waited, as patiently as she could, until the final ship had reported in. The formation would horrify her superiors, let alone the Tokomak, but it would have to do. Flying so many ships in close formation at FTL speeds would be asking for trouble. And the gravitational eddies would be so powerful that they couldn't risk getting too close to the target system before they knew what they were facing. The Druavroks would see them coming and prepare a surprise of their own.
“All ships have acknowledged, Captain,” Wilde said, formally. “The fleet is ready to depart on your command.”
Hoshiko hesitated. For better or worse, her every action was being recorded and whatever she said or did would serve as an example to her successors, either as an example of moral judgement or what not to do under any circumstances. She wanted to say something that would resonate down the ages, but she couldn't think of anything that might pass muster.
“Take us into FTL,” she ordered, instead.
“Aye, Captain,” the helmsman said. The starship shuddered slightly as she slipped into FTL, followed by the remainder of the fleet. “We’re on our way.”
“Good,” Hoshiko said. She glanced at the XO. “Give the crew a day of reduced duty, then return to the simulations and disaster drills.”
“Aye, Captain,” Wilde said. He had doubts - she knew he had doubts - but he wouldn't let them interfere with his duty. And as long as he didn't, she’d ignore his doubts. His advice was always good, even if she didn't take it. “I’ll see to it personally.”
“You have the bridge,” Hoshiko said. She needed a break, if nothing else. Her XO could handle the ship long enough for her to have a long nap. “Inform me if anything happens.”
“Aye, Captain,” the XO said.
Chapter Fourteen
Investigative teams in South Africa have confirmed that the white-killing disease is almost certainly man-made and, worse, is very likely to mutate and target non-white/mixed individuals. It is strongly advised that all people within the danger zone be vaccinated against the virus and, if they wish, take immune boosters. This virus threatens to spread rapidly.
-Solar News Network, Year 54
“Well,” Ensign Sandra Higgs said, as she rolled off him. “I needed that, Tom.”
Thomas smiled, taking a moment to bask in the glow of simple contentment. Sandra had caught him as he finished his duty shift and invited him, in line with the simple etiquette governing onboard relationships, into the privacy tubes. Thomas hadn't needed to think before accepting. It had been too long for him too.
“So did I,” he said. “You were great.”
Sandra gave him an affectionate look. “You’re new to shipboard duty, aren't you?”
Thomas nodded. There
was no point in trying to hide it. He’d been the baby ensign, the lowest commissioned officer on the ship, ever since he’d boarded Jackie Fisher before she departed Sol. It was uncommon to be the baby for longer than a few months, when the next graduating class left the academy, but no one had given him a hard time over it. There’d just been too much to do for more than a little good-natured hazing.
“Don’t make more of this than it is,” Sandra warned, as she stood. Her breasts glimmered with sweat as the lights grew brighter. “I just wanted a little relief and so did you. We’re too young for a formal romance.”
Thomas smiled, although he felt oddly hurt. She was right - they were both too young to attempt to start a courtship that would lead to marriage - but it still bothered him. And yet, in the normal run of things, most shipboard relationships lasted only a few months. One of the lovers would be transferred or the relationship would simply run its course. It was absurd to think that Sandra and he would be any different. She simply wasn't interested in anything other than spending the night with a willing partner.
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