Have a nap afterwards, then take the fleet back to Amstar, she thought, as she scrubbed herself clean, then used a force field to dry herself. Her body tingled under its touch. And pray that the enemy doesn't come up with something clever.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Water riots have torn the richer parts of California apart, following the collapse of the provisional government and media stories about the rich using water to wash their dogs while the poor are on strict rationing. The news has helped encourage thousands more to flee into the countryside or cross the border into Arizona, which has proven safer. A number of militia groups have actually been firing on civilians entering their territory.
-Solar News Network, Year 54
“There are thousands of humans who wish to sign up with us,” Captain Ryman said, as he sat down in Hoshiko’s office. “But they want something in exchange.”
Hoshiko leaned forward. “What?”
“Either a largely-human colony within the sector or permission to immigrate into the Solar Union,” Captain Ryman said. “The Druavroks haven't done much for diversity in the sector.”
“I imagine the Tokomak didn't do much either,” Hoshiko said. Humans - the descendents of humans who had been taken from Earth centuries before Contact - were regarded as second-class citizens, like many other races that hadn't developed space travel before the Tokomak arrived. “They can certainly have permission to immigrate to the Solar Union. It isn't as if we could stop them, as long as they obey the rules.”
Captain Ryman nodded. “But some of them also want a human colony within the sector,” he said. “Finding a suitable world isn't going to be easy.”
“Impossible, I would have said,” Hoshiko said. She would have preferred an asteroid colony, maybe a large cluster of asteroids that could be reshaped at will. “Much of the good real estate within this sector has already been taken.”
“That’s the problem,” Captain Ryman agreed. “They’re actually talking about exterminating the Druavroks on Malachi and claiming the planet for humanity.”
“I won’t commit genocide,” Hoshiko said, flatly. “There’s nothing stopping us from establishing an asteroid settlement, something that can grow into a canton, but we’re not going to wipe a world clean just so humans can settle on it. That would make us no better than the Druavroks.”
“Proving the Druavroks can be beaten, which you have done, has only fuelled demands for indiscriminate revenge,” Captain Ryman said. “The Grand Alliance is already wondering about putting out peace feelers to the Druavroks.”
“If I thought they’d honour them, I’d support making the attempt,” Hoshiko said. “But if they even agree to talk to us, Captain, they’ll break the agreement as soon as they think they can get away with it.”
“I don’t disagree with you,” Captain Ryman said. “The problem is that not everyone thinks along the same lines. It isn't a problem, at the moment, but it could easily become worse.”
“I’m planning to start dispatching smaller raiding missions into enemy territory, now we have more warships at our disposal,” Hoshiko said. “How are we doing for weapons production?”
“Still crawling upwards,” Captain Ryman said. “You expended a great many missiles at Dab-Yam.”
“And we killed a great many enemy ships,” Hoshiko countered. “They won't be able to replace those losses in a hurry.”
“But they will, given time,” Captain Ryman said. “Do you intend to hit their shipyards?”
“Eventually,” Hoshiko said. “We also need to target their fabbers.”
She ignored his frown. Targeting fabbers, even enemy fabbers, would incur the disapproval of the entire sector, but stripping the enemy of their capability to produce war material was a great deal more important. If the Druavroks truly preferred to concentrate on the offensive, rather than the defensive, targeting their homeworlds might be more effective than anyone had a right to expect. And if they lost the ability to produce missiles, they’d lose the war itself soon afterwards.
“The Grand Alliance will not approve,” Captain Ryman said.
“I wasn't planning to tell them,” Hoshiko said. It was odd to realise that her allies had limits, when she knew that war was always total. “But those fabbers are the lifeblood of their war machine.”
“I won’t tell them either,” Captain Ryman said. “But be careful, please.”
“I will,” Hoshiko said. “Has there been any more actionable intelligence?”
“I’ve already forwarded everything my people collected to your staff,” Captain Ryman said, leaning forward. “The only interesting piece of data was that the Druavroks abandoned the siege of Treehouse.”
Hoshiko blinked. “Treehouse?”
“It’s a rough translation of the world’s name, rotated through two separate Gal-Standards,” Captain Ryman said. “The inhabitants look like giant trees; they have, I believe, an empathic link to their world. There have been rumours that they have a long-range telepathic capability ever since they entered the Galactic mainstream, but nothing was ever proven. The Tokomak wouldn't have hesitated to exploit them if they actually could beam messages over light years.”
“I imagine so,” Hoshiko agreed. The concept of telepaths gave her the chills. “Is their world important?”
“They had a formidable network of defences,” Captain Ryman said. “They’re quite an industrious race, Captain. Treehouse isn't the production capital of the sector, but it’s definitely in the top five or six. I doubt they will hesitate to join the Grand Alliance and add their productive capabilities to ours.”
“You already have ambassadors on the way,” Hoshiko guessed.
“I do,” Captain Ryman confirmed. “But I have no explanation for why the Druavroks abandoned the siege.”
Hoshiko nodded, slowly. The Druavroks had been convinced not to charge into the defences of Dab-Yam - at least, not twice - but they hadn't simply given up. She’d had to lure them into a trap to end the threat they presented to the alien world. There was no reason for them to abandon another siege, particularly if they knew Treehouse would join their enemies as soon as it could.
“They have a use for the ships elsewhere,” she said, finally. “Here, perhaps?”
“It’s a possibility,” Captain Ryman said. “If, of course, they take the Grand Alliance seriously.”
“We smashed one of their fleets and crushed the defences of one of their worlds,” Hoshiko said. “They really should take us seriously.”
She sighed, inwardly. The Tokomak hadn’t just been overwhelmingly superior, when they’d met the Druavroks; they’d beaten the living daylights out of them. Hoshiko knew she’d hurt the Druavroks, but it wasn't anything like on the same scale. And, for maximum effect, she had to hurt them badly in a single battle.
“We’ll mind our defences here, but concentrate on reloading the fleet,” she said. “Do we have additional warships?”
“Several,” Captain Ryman confirmed. “Along with a number of ancient starships we’re refurbishing and a Tokomak battlecruiser.”
Hoshiko frowned. “A Tokomak battlecruiser?”
“It was apparently in storage near Glenda,” Captain Ryman said, “along with a number of other outdated ships. Why, I don’t know. They sent them along in the hopes we could put them to use.”
“Interesting,” Hoshiko said. “Is she flyable?”
“With a little effort,” Captain Ryman said. “Half of her weapons and defences were stripped out at some point, and her computer cores were removed, but we can replace them.”
“Then I may have a use for her,” Hoshiko said. The Druavroks revered the Tokomak. That had to be good for something, if she could find a way to exploit it. “Have her brought back into fighting trim, as best as we can.”
“The problem is rigging up a control system,” Captain Ryman said. “She doesn’t have anything like the automaton of other, more modern ships. I think she actually predates the Tokomak expansion into the Sol Sect
or. Controlling her in a battle would be tricky without a very large crew.”
“See what you can do,” Hoshiko ordered. The idea wasn't gelled yet, but it would come in time. “And let me know if there’s anything I can do on the diplomatic front.”
“Just keep winning battles,” Captain Ryman said. “As long as it looks like we can turn the tide, the Grand Alliance will stay together.”
Hoshiko smiled. “We’ll do our best.”
***
Thomas paused outside the XO’s office, feeling a worried sensation growing in his gut even though - this time - he wasn’t remotely late. Indeed, the XO had given him a time instead of merely ordering him to report immediately, which suggested he wasn't in trouble. And yet ... he reminded himself, impatiently, that spacers were brave and tapped the buzzer. The hatch hissed open a moment later, allowing him to step inside.
“Ensign Howard,” the XO said. He didn't sound pleased, although Thomas was sure it wasn’t directed at him. “Did you enjoy your courier service?”
Thomas tried, for a moment, to think of the correct answer. The truth was he hadn't enjoyed it, although it had given him a chance to catch up on his reading. But was that the answer the XO wanted? His tutors at the Academy had been fond of sneaky questions that doubled as secret tests of character, when he'd never been entirely certain what was being tested, let alone the purpose of the tests. Speaking honestly might get him in trouble.
“It had its moments, sir,” he said, finally. The chance to take a break on Amstar would have meant more to him if he’d had a chance to explore the city. “Do you want me to take another set of messages?”
“Not this time,” the XO said. He studied Thomas for a long time, leaving him feeling worried and antsy. This was going to be bad. “I understand that you applied for command track?”
“Yes, sir,” Thomas said. Everyone wanted command - and, with the fleet constantly expanding, there was a good chance of winning a command within ten years. The Captain was in her thirties, according to her file, and she had command of a whole squadron. “I applied for command track after my first year at the Academy.”
“You’re also a commissioned officer,” the XO said. “There’s a ... task that needs doing, one that needs a commissioned officer. I should tell you, before I go any further, that the task is volunteers only. If you turn it down, Ensign, it will not be noted in your file.”
And that might not be actually true, Thomas thought. The old sweats had warned him that refusing a mission would be held against him, even if nothing was officially written down. It would certainly suggest he didn't have the nerve to be a starship officer, let alone hold independent command. What does he want?
“There are a number of small warships - patrol boats and frigates, mainly - that we’re currently outfitting for deployment as raiders,” the XO informed him. “The crews will largely consist of humans recruited from the sector’s population as auxiliaries, but we’re short of local officers to command them. Your role, if you choose to accept it, will be to command one of those ships.”
Thomas felt his mouth fall open. Technically, he could wind up in command of Jackie Fisher, but any accident that wiped out every higher-ranking officer would almost certainly destroy the entire ship. He hadn't expected to stand watch outside FTL, let alone take command of the ship in a potential combat zone. There were just too many officers ranked above him.
“Sir?”
The XO smiled, although there was a hint of rueful annoyance in the expression. “You will have command of a small vessel, with orders to raid enemy shipping,” he said, bluntly. “If you don't feel you’re up to the task, say so now and nothing more will be said about it.”
Thomas swallowed, caught between a desire to grab the opportunity with both hands and a sudden urge to flee. He had no illusions about his ability to command men, not when he had only four months in active service. His tutors had talked about positional authority and personal authority and he had very little of the former, let alone the latter. The thought of being in a courier boat was bad enough, when he was alone or only with a couple of others; being commander of a ship, at the age of nineteen, was worse.
And yet, he thought, it would look very good on my record.
His mouth was suddenly very dry. “I would be honoured,” he stammered. He had the feeling he wouldn't see promotion again, if he showed a lack of self-confidence. The old sweats had warned him that Fleet Command would enthusiastically agree with any officer who declared himself unready for command. “If ... if you feel I can be of service.”
“You have the training,” the XO said. His voice hardened. “What you lack is the experience, but we’re short of officers and men right now. You won’t have anyone from the ship backing you up - I’d hoped to give you a handful of marines, but they can't be spared.”
Thomas nodded, almost gratefully. The marines had always scared him, just a little. He’d had the standard unarmed combat course at the Academy, and he had combat programs loaded into his implants, but he was no match for any of the groundpounders. They did things he couldn't imagine doing himself. And yet, he knew he should have prayed for a handful of marines to escort him. He might need their help.
“The ship should be ready for crewing tomorrow, if the latest update is to be believed,” the XO said. “I have never assigned an officer as junior as you to a role like this, Ensign, nor have I put one on such an exposed limb. If you want to back out, say so by the end of the duty shift and it won’t be held against you.”
“I’d hate myself forever if I refused, sir,” Thomas said, fighting down an insane urge to giggle. When he’d been younger, growing up on sensory programs about spacers blazing a path into the unknown, he wouldn't have needed longer than a second to make up his mind to accept the post. “I accept the task.”
“Good,” the XO said. Thomas’s implants bleeped up an alert, informing him that the XO was sending him a datapacket. “You’re off the duty roster from now, Ensign. I want you to spend the rest of the day reviewing that packet - if you have any questions, forward them to me - and then get some rest. And I mean rest. Tomorrow, you take command of your ship.”
“Yes, sir,” Thomas said. A patrol boat or a frigate ... either one would be tiny, and probably not designed for humans. Somehow, he doubted the XO would put a heavy cruiser in his hands. “And thank you.”
The XO gave him a sharp look. “Thank me when you come home,” he said. “And not a moment before.”
“Yes, sir,” Thomas said. He smiled as a thought struck him. He could tell Sandra! “Can I ... can I tell others?”
“It might not be a good idea,” the XO said. “You’re not the only one being given a command, but not everyone is getting one. Wait.”
Thomas sobered. “Yes, sir.”
“Report back to my cabin at 1000 tomorrow, unless I call you earlier,” the XO added, looking back down at the paperwork on his desk. “Dismissed.”
“Yes, sir,” Thomas said.
***
Griffin Wilde watched the painfully young - had he ever been that young? - Ensign leave his office, then cursed under his breath. He was experienced enough to read Ensign Howard perfectly, no matter how carefully the younger man tried to hide his emotions. Howard was excited and scared and willing and reluctant ... a complex tangle of emotion that reminded Griffin, as if he’d had any doubt, that Howard was still a young man. Too young to feel truly confident in himself, too old to accept failure as a possibility.
And it wasn't helped by the fear he would never be offered a second chance, Griffin thought, darkly. It isn't as if we make a habit of offering young officers command billets.
He cursed again, savagely. The Captain’s war demanded that a young and inexperienced officer be sent out on a mission that might well be suicidal, in command of a tiny number of largely inexperienced crewmen. Griffin had never sent someone out before, fully expecting him to die, but now ... now he wondered if he’d crossed that line. And yet, no matter how he
worked the problem, he couldn't see any other solution. They needed to keep the Druavroks off balance, but there was no time to recruit more locals and train them for shipboard duty.
All of those training programs are long-term, he thought. It took months to train even a basic engineer - and a full engineer took years. Let us hope the war doesn't go on that long.
Picking up a datapad, he glanced at the report from the chief engineer. Jackie Fisher had an onboard machine shop, complete with a miniaturised fabber, but even so ... they were pushing their ability to repair their cruisers to the limits. The Captain might discover that her squadron needed to be refitted at the worst possible time, if she was lucky. If she was unlucky, something would break at the worst possible time. And she knew the dangers ...
The Black Sheep (A Learning Experience Book 3) Page 26