Knight's Move

by Nuttall, Christopher

  She scowled at the thought, pulling off her shorts and dropping them in the basket. The Intelligence Officer had been subtle, but not subtle enough to fool someone who had spent over thirty years in one war zone or another. She was taking an interest in Sandy and, as far as Sandy knew, there was only one plausible reason for such interest. Her homeworld was the core of the Bottleneck Republic. On one hand, Sandy could understand why Cynthia would be concerned; on the other, she found the whole situation insulting. Where had Cynthia been when Sandy had been risking her life fighting the Dragons?

  In kindergarten, mainly, she thought, wryly. Cynthia’s file was largely sealed, at least to a lowly Commander such as herself, but the few details that were publically available stated that Cynthia was barely twenty-two. She’d joined the TFN at sixteen – that was rare, which made her wonder just what lay in the locked files – and had been streamlined into the Office of Naval Intelligence. ONI, a law unto itself when it came to promotions, had made her a Commander (Intelligence) and assigned her to various starships. Dauntless was merely her latest posting.

  But she was even younger than the Captain ...

  “Probably,” Jess agreed, as she followed Sandy into the compartment. The Marine stripped bare in a smooth economical motion, threw her clothes into the basket and then stepped under the shower. “But beating up Intelligence Officers would probably be taken as a sign of guilt.”

  Sandy nodded, admiring Jess’s muscled back before looking away, feeling a twinge of guilt. Marines didn't seem to care about showering together, but Sandy privately found Jess attractive enough to want to stare at her ... it wouldn't lead anywhere, she knew, no matter what happened. Jess wasn't interested in women, merely men. It was definitely a waste.

  She pushed the thought aside, cooled the shower and allowed the water to wash the sweat from her body. As always, she was aching slightly; she silently promised herself to spend more time working out with Jess in future. There was a naval tradition that young crewmen and officers had to spend at least two hours exercising every day – or, if they wanted, they could spar with the Marines instead. It was quicker, but few younger officers took them up on it, apart from the handful who were true martial artists. Most of the crew learned nothing more than basic self-defence.

  “I’m looking forward to meeting with the Hammers again,” Jess said. She turned her shower off and stepped into the next room, her voice drifting back from the compartment. “We had a good rapport with them during the T’Chaills Campaign. I was just a lowly jarhead at the time, but we still had fun.”

  Sandy had to smile. The ground campaign on T’Chaills had been a nightmare, at least for the Federation Marines and Colonial Militia. It had been the first world the Dragons had conquered when they’d leapt into space and the Admiralty had decided that merely isolating the planet and leaving it to die on the vine was insufficient. Hundreds of thousands of ground troops had been shipped in to take the planet; nearly half of them had returned in body bags, if their bodies had been recovered. The Dragons had known, perhaps, that they were doomed, but they’d resisted savagely. By the time the planet had been declared pacified, millions of the Dragon settlers were dead.

  Another reason for the Bottleneck Republic to be suspicious, she thought. We would have preferred to smash the world from orbit. Or just keep throwing asteroids until one got through the defences.

  “I’m sure there will be an opportunity,” she said. There were people she could ask on Fairfax who would give her a straight answer – or at least come out and tell her that the matter was classified. “I’ll check for you and find out.”

  She had to smile. The Hammers – the finest front-line force in the Colonial Militia – had been deployed to support the Federation Navy once connections had been re-established between the Federation and the Bottleneck Republic. She didn't know where they had gone after that, but if half of what she’d heard was true, there was still plenty of work for the ground forces. The Dragons who had been abandoned on the formerly occupied worlds didn't seem to understand that the war was over.

  “Please,” Jess said.

  Sandy stepped into the next compartment and noted, to her relief, that her friend had already pulled on her tunic and day uniform. Marines were excused from much of the Navy’s spit and polish, although nothing they genuinely needed was allowed to get dirty. Sandy had considered, more than once, trying out for a transfer to the Marines, but she doubted she would even make it as a shuttle pilot. The Marines still believed that each and every one of them had to be a rifleman first.

  She dressed too, checked her appearance in the mirror, then stepped towards the hatch.

  “I’ll spar with you again tomorrow,” Jess said. Her scarred face twisted into a smile. “By then, I expect you to have improved.”

  Sandy rolled her eyes at the joke. It wasn't as if she had time to do more than a few brief moments of exercise, even though matters were settling down. There were crew rosters to make up, disciplinary matters to handle and diplomats to supervise. One of the Governor’s staff had already tried to entice a young crewwoman into his bed and been surprised when he had been turned down. Thankfully, he hadn't pushed matters any further or things might have become complicated.

  Or perhaps not, she thought, as she left the compartment. The Captain would not have stood for it – and his connections are better than hers.

  But the thought irritated her for the rest of the day.

  Chapter Nine

  The Great Wall was terrifying.

  Glen stared through Dauntless’s sensors at a rolling wall of pure energy that roared its rage through hyperspace. Countless tiny whorls of energy spun free, slicing out to fade back into the background noise of the high-energy dimension, or falling back into the energy storm. Dauntless was insignificant compared to the Great Wall; it stretched out for light years in all directions, blocking all forms of hyperspace travel. The impassable zones caused by Bottleneck itself seemed almost tiny compared to the storm. It had been there for thousands of years, according to the scientists, and might never burn itself out.

  He disengaged from the sensors and fell back into his own body. The bridge seemed reassuringly solid after staring out into hyperspace, even a computer-generated representation of the dimension. Those who stared into hyperspace with their naked eyes often went mad, or refused to ever travel again. Glen could understand both responses. Hyperspace was a very inhuman domain.

  “Two minutes to Bottleneck,” Helena reported, from the helm console. “Portal generator online and standing by.”

  Glen nodded. It had been a long trip, made longer by having to deal with the Governor and her staff. And Cynthia, who had still been sniffing around as if she expected to encounter conspiracy in the tubes or criminals in the holds. But they’d made it as far as Bottleneck itself and, beyond the Great Wall, it was only two days to Fairfax. They could endure another two days, he told himself firmly. And they could unload the Governor and head onwards to the border.

  “Take us out,” he ordered, when the timer reached zero. “Now.”

  Hyperspace twisted in front of them – there was a sense of falling that threatened to overwhelm him – and then they plunged back into normal space. The inky darkness of normal space was a relief after the eerie lights of hyperspace; he heard a general sigh of relief running through the bridge as they realised they’d made it. Even at the best of times, hyperspace travel wasn't safe ... and everyone knew that a handful of starships vanished every year to ‘causes unknown.’ Pirates, raiders ... or hyperspace storms. No one ever came back to report.

  “Transit complete,” Helena reported. “Portal closing down; portal closed.”

  “All ships have returned to normal space,” Danielle added. “They appear to have made it without problems.”

  Glen nodded, impatiently. The trip had been rather boring, he had to admit; there had been hints that an unknown starship or two had taken a look at them, but the pirates – if pirates they were – had cle
arly thought better of picking on a heavy cruiser. Or maybe the tactical sensors had merely been having flights of fancy. Everyone who served in the Navy had heard tales of sensors suddenly reporting huge starships of unknown design, starships that appeared out of nowhere and then vanished as quickly as they had appeared. No one could agree if they were illusions caused by hyperspace or reflections of real starships hundreds of thousands of light years away. Groundhogs believed that spacers were merely making them up.

  “Raise Bottleneck,” he ordered. “Inform them that the Governor wishes to speak with the Admiral before we proceed.”

  There was little to recommend the Bottleneck system apart from its location. The odd fluctuations in hyperspace that had created the Great Wall had placed one star system right at the edge of the Bottleneck. Humanity had settled a pair of Mars-like worlds and started the long task of terraforming them before the Dragons had occupied the system, blasting most of the settlements from orbit. Now, the only real settlements were the colossal fleet base the Federation Navy had installed after the system had been liberated and a large domed colony on one of the planets, housing the sector government. It would be a long time before the settlers could go outside the domes, he knew. There was simply no interest in resuming the terraforming project – or funds to do so.

  He smiled as the fleet base came into view. It was a colossal sphere, bristling with weapons and sensor emplacements, surrounded by a handful of free-floating dockyard structures. A handful of starfighters patrolled space, while – beyond the fleet base – a pair of fleet carriers and a superdreadnaught squadron were ready to respond to problems elsewhere in the sector. It was a formidable display of strength and power, yet Glen couldn't help noticing what was missing. There were only a handful of smaller ships in the system, the cruisers, frigates and destroyers the Navy needed to patrol space and escort convoys. The TFN had decommissioned far too many of them.

  “Captain, we’ve received a response to our signal,” Danielle said. “Admiral Porter welcomes the Governor and her entourage to Bottleneck and invites her for a meeting before she resumes her travels. And he’s also inviting you.”

  Glen kept his displeasure off his face with an effort. He didn’t know Admiral Porter personally, but it wasn't standard practice to invite the CO of a passing vessel to a meeting unless there were extenuating circumstances. Maybe the Admiral wanted another naval officer present when he met the Governor ... or maybe he wanted to suck up to Glen because of his family connections. In hindsight, Glen knew, he’d been lucky to avoid that for so long, but his unexpected promotion would have highlighted his family for all to see.

  “Please inform the Admiral that we would be delighted to join him,” Glen lied, smoothly. He keyed his console. “XO to the bridge; I say again, XO to the bridge.”

  Once Sandy joined them, Glen passed command to her and walked off the bridge, heading towards the Governor’s suite. They had the finest cabins on the ship, he knew, which hadn't stopped them complaining that there was barely room to swing a cat. The Governor, clearly having anticipated the invitation, was already waiting for him, with her two escorts at her side. Glen fought down the urge to tell her that the two sycophants were not invited and, instead, escorted her to the shuttlebay. The shuttle was already waiting for them.

  The Governor gave him a surprised look as he rousted out the pilot and took the seat for himself. “You're going to fly us?”

  “I did manage to pass my piloting exam,” Glen assured her. It wasn't a requirement for command track, but he’d fancied becoming a starfighter pilot before being told that his talents lay in starship command. Flying a shuttle was nothing like flying a starfighter, yet it was the closest he'd ever come to being a fighter jock. “Sit down and belt up. This may be an uncomfortable ride.”

  Space was deceptively quiet as he powered the shuttle out of the shuttlebay and flew towards the fleet base. It was impossible to believe that there was a giant hyperspace storm just waiting for someone unwary enough to try to open a portal into hyperspace, or that there were places where it was literally impossible to even start generating a portal without causing an explosion. But what you couldn't see could kill you, Glen reminded himself, as the shuttle drifted down towards its destination. Hyperspace had absolutely no patience with people who tried to bend the rules.

  He smiled as he landed the shuttle neatly in the fleet base’s shuttlebay. Outside, the Admiral and his staff were already lining up, ready to suck up to the Governor. Technically, she was Admiral Porter’s immediate political superior, although it wasn't actually clear just how far her authority stretched. There was little case law and a great deal of speculation – and few legal experts actually wanted to find out the hard way.

  Glen hung back as the Governor stepped out and introduced herself to Admiral Porter, taking advantage of the Admiral’s preoccupation to study him and his staff. His record was encouraging; Porter might not have commanded a starship, but he did have a good record in logistics and supply. Maybe not a combat-orientated officer, Glen decided, yet not a bad choice for his current position. But the way he was chatting to the Governor spoke against him.

  Or maybe he just wants promotion, Glen thought, sourly. Admirals and other flag ranks weren't just assigned on the basis of competence, even if the war had eliminated a number of Admirals who had put politics ahead of actually fighting. The Governor’s report could make the difference between Admiral Porter being assigned to Earth Base or being invited to leave the service during the next RIF. God knew there were people questioning the wisdom of keeping Bottleneck Station up and running. It wasn't as if it were in a good position to support either the nearby sector or the Fairfax Cluster.

  Up close, Admiral Porter looked well-meaning, Glen decided as they shook hands. If the Admiral was aware of Glen’s connections, it was difficult to be sure ... but then, the Governor probably overshadowed him. Glen stayed back as the Admiral led the Governor into a small conference room – his senior staff dispersed back to their duties, no doubt to their relief – and sat away from both of them. He wanted to see how they interacted, not take part in the discussion himself.

  “I must say I’m very relieved that a Governor has been finally assigned to the Fairfax Cluster,” the Admiral said, once they had drained their fund of small talk. “There hasn't been a Governor since Bottleneck was occupied – and the last one vanished without a trace.”

  Glen scowled, inwardly. He’d reviewed some of the media broadcasts and discovered the implication that the previous Governor had been assassinated by the colonials. The truth was that he'd fled his post when it had become clear that Bottleneck was going to fall, only to be lost somewhere in transit. There was no indication that the Dragons had ever taken him prisoner, suggesting that his ship had been destroyed. But no one, Glen suspected, would ever know for sure.

  “I look forward to taking up my role,” Governor Wu said. The wine the Admiral’s staff had given them was nothing like as expensive as the Governor’s, Glen noted, but it was still pricy. “However, we lack a comprehensive briefing on the state of the colonies themselves.”

  “And the military situation, sir,” Glen added. It would always be his first concern, whatever his brothers said. “We’re six months out of date.”

  “My Intelligence Officer has prepared a briefing,” Admiral Porter said. He nodded to a lanky young man with oddly-old eyes. “Lieutenant Rogers, if you please ...?”

  The young man tapped a switch, activating the holographic display. “I have prepared a full infodump for you,” he began, “but I will touch on the principal matters now. The Fairfax Cluster is caught between several competing strands of thought, at least two of which pose a danger to the integrity of the Federation. It is the prediction of my staff that we will see a crisis within the next year – two at the most.”

  Glen scowled. Politically-driven briefings had been a headache for his brothers, but the military had largely avoided them – or so he’d thought. Now, of course, the s
implicity of the war had been replaced by the chaos the war had left in its wake. And Intelligence Officers could be relied upon to spin the briefing to ensure that their superiors heard what they wanted to hear – or what their subordinates wanted them to hear. It wasn't always the same thing.

  “To summarise, the Fairfax Cluster is still building up its military at an astonishing rate,” Rogers continued. “Despite the formal end of the war, they continue to spend a sizable percentage of their combined GPP on starships, planetary defences and supporting facilities. Put in perspective, if the Federation spent a similar amount of its income on the TFN, the fleet would include millions of superdreadnaughts and fleet carriers – and billions of crewmen. They have also purchased a considerable number of military starships from the Federation, although such purchases have tailed off in recent years.

  “This leaves us with a single worrying question. Why, exactly, are they building up their fleet?