Knight's Move

by Nuttall, Christopher

  “Because we will be blamed for the attack,” the General said. “How – exactly – do we benefit?”

  “You get a final solution to a problem,” Sandy pointed out.

  Her father rounded on her. “That wasn't funny,” he snapped.

  “It wasn't meant to be,” Sandy said. Once, her father’s tone would have had her quaking at the knees, begging for mercy. Now ... she was a grown woman who had experienced worse than her father’s cold rages. “To someone who doesn’t feel the situation, to someone who believes that the colonies are populated by barbarians, the idea that we might just solve the problem by exterminating the aliens seems plausible.”

  The General held her gaze for a long second, then swung back to face the Captain. “And how are they likely to react?”

  “It depends,” the Captain admitted, uncomfortably. “They may insist that the Colonial Militia provide protection to other alien refugee camps. Or they may send the Federation Navy to handle the task.”

  “Which wouldn’t please anyone,” the General muttered. “They’d take it as proof that the Federation puts the interests of aliens ahead of humanity, despite the lessons of the Cold War.”

  Sandy couldn't disagree. What would have happened, she wondered, if the Federation had responded vigorously to the provocations along the border? Would the Dragons have been deterred? Or would they have built up a larger fleet and attacked ten or twenty years later? But, instead, the Federation had been occupied with its own internal problems, leaving it distracted and divided when the Dragons invaded. The colonies would not forget that easily.

  “We will go to the camp and find out what happened,” the Captain said, firmly. “And then we will take whatever action seems appropriate.”

  They finished their snack, then the Captain rose to leave. “With your permission, Captain, I would like to speak to my daughter,” the General said. “Would you mind ...?”

  The Captain glanced at Sandy, then nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him. Sandy sighed, silently hoping that Cynthia never heard that she’d been caught alone by the senior military officer in the colonies. No doubt it would be taken as further proof of disloyalty.

  “Father,” she said, tightly. “What can I do for you?”

  “Just a simple question,” her father said. “Can we trust him?”

  He nodded towards the door. “I looked up Captain Knight’s family,” he added. “They’re all corporate big-shots. And his corporation is one of the ones who think we owe them money. Can he be trusted?”

  “I think he’s a decent person at heart,” Sandy said, reluctantly. Asking a junior officer to comment on her immediate superior was a gross breach of military etiquette. Her father wasn't in the TFN, but it still bothered her. “And he knows that the Governor is asking too much from us.”

  “She isn’t likely to get anything,” her father grunted. “But what happens if she calls the feds in to enforce her edicts?”

  Sandy knew, all right. The colonies would fight. In theory, the TFN was overwhelmingly powerful ... but that had been true of the Dragons too. And, if that happened, where would her loyalties lie?

  “I think it would take the Federation some time to decide what to do in any case,” she said, finally. She had never been one to enjoy political dithering, but it worked to her advantage here. “The prospect of actual military action will split the Federation right down the middle.”

  “Which may be what the attackers have in mind,” her father suggested. “What if the mercenaries were hired by Draconic warlords?”

  It was a possibility, Sandy had to admit. The Federation was still overwhelmingly powerful, but if it collapsed into civil war – or even a reasonably peaceful breakup – it would be dramatically weakened. It was quite easy to imagine the Dragons hoping to trigger a civil war that would destroy humanity’s fleets without them having to lift a clawed hand.

  “Be careful,” her father said. He gave her another tight hug, then released her. “You might well be one of those targeted if someone is trying to provoke a war.”

  “I know, father,” Sandy said. “I know.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Captain, we’re picking up a signal from Independence,” Danielle said. “They’re requesting permission to accompany us to Tyson’s Rest.”

  Glen concealed a smile with some effort. CS Independence was the starship that had shadowed them from the Bottleneck to Fairfax, then waited in orbit only a few million kilometres from Dauntless’s orbital slot. He wasn’t surprised that the Colonial Militia would want to escort them, although he was surprised that the General hadn't raised the topic with him during their brief meeting. It was possible that he hadn't known at the time, Glen supposed, but it was odd. Perhaps they just wanted to see if he would change his plans on short notice.

  “Inform her that she is welcome to accompany us,” Glen ordered. “And that we will be glad of her company.”

  He would be, he knew. The six freighters they were escorting had been the subject of much speculation in the colonial media. Almost all of the local commenters had harped on about how unfair it was that aliens were receiving supplies from the Federation while humans were starving. Many of them had even suggested that the Colonial Militia seize the ships and their supplies for distribution to humans. Thankfully, that proposal had gone nowhere – Glen would have had to block access to the freighters – but he knew that pirates and raiders would be licking their lips with anticipation. An additional escort would be very welcome.

  “The freighters are finally ready to depart,” Danielle added, a moment later. “Their commanders report that all systems are go.”

  “Finally,” Glen muttered. The freighter commanders had clearly expected to remain at Fairfax for at least a week, which suggested the Governor didn’t attach much urgency to feeding the aliens. “Inform them that we will depart in ten minutes.”

  He returned his attention to his console, studying the near-orbit display. The captured carrier hadn't moved at all, beyond basic station-keeping; Cynthia believed, after hours of observation, that she simply lacked a working drive section. Glen was inclined to agree; it did look as though the Colonials had merely turned the ship into an orbiting starfighter platform, rather than trying to turn her into a proper carrier. But in their place, he would have hidden some of their tricks too. They had to know that Dauntless was collecting intelligence that could be used against them.

  The thought made him scowl. Sandy’s father – and the rest of the colonials – had impressed him, as had their defence of Representative Feingold. If it came to a direct confrontation, he had the uncomfortable feeling that the colonials would not back down. He’d written out a full report and attached the raw data from Windy, but he doubted his brothers would take it seriously. After all, the colonials had been offered the choice between fighting or bring enslaved by the Dragons. The Federation would offer them far better choices.

  But not if they wish to remain independent, Glen thought. He remembered his own struggles to escape his family’s influence – and just how futile they had been, at the last. Would command have ever come without his brothers? Perhaps not – but if it had, it would have been his achievement and his alone. The colonials aren't very different from me.

  He pushed the thought aside as the timer counted down to zero. “Take us out of orbit,” he ordered. “And flash our running lights as we pass.”

  Dauntless quivered slightly as Helena brought up the main drive, taking them away from the planet’s gravity well. It was fanciful to imagine that the starship was alive, but it was a common belief among spacers, who depended on their ships for survival. Glen smiled to himself as the small convoy followed Dauntless, with Independence bringing up the rear. If nothing else, he would have time to invite her skipper for dinner and take the measure of his fellow Captain.

  “Injection point reached, Captain,” Helena reported. “Portal generator online.”

  “Take us into hyperspace,” Glen ordere
d. “And then set course for Tyson’s Rest.”

  He settled back into his command chair as the portal blossomed to life in front of them, then brought up the sensor readings as Independence followed them into hyperspace. Hyperspace made it difficult to be sure of anything, but it looked as though there was nothing wrong with her portal generator. But then, the portal generator was one of the few components no one took any chances with, even pirates. A single mishap and the entire ship might be ripped apart and scattered over a thousand light years.

  “Transit complete,” Helena said, as the last portal faded back into the twisting energies of hyperspace. “Setting course now. Estimated ETA; two days.”

  Glen nodded. The navigational charts of the space along the border left something to be desired. There were no navigational beacons; the only storm warnings anyone received came from starships broadcasting alerts as they altered course to avoid them. He made a mental note to request the deployment of a team of survey ships to the region, although he knew that it was unlikely they would be produced in a hurry. The Federation Survey Service had too much work to do charting out the intricacies of Draconic space.

  “Keep a close eye on the convoy,” he ordered. He stood, summoning the senior officer to relieve him. “I don’t want to lose any of them here.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cooke said. In the Core Worlds, a freighter could still follow navigational beacons, but here there were none. Losing contact with their escort could, at the very least, mean a long delay before they relocated the convoy. At worst, the ship would vanish, never to be seen again. “I’ve established multiple links with each ship, including Independence.”

  “Good thinking,” Glen said. “You have the bridge.”

  “I relieve you,” Cooke said.

  Glen nodded and stepped through the hatch to his office. There were even more intelligence reports to read, some of them from Sandy’s father. And she would probably need to help him understand just what was going on too. His terminal bleeped as he sat down at the desk, reporting a message from Cynthia. She wanted to talk with him as a matter of urgency.

  This had damn well better be important, Glen thought, and sent her a message inviting her to his office. Five minutes later, the hatch chimed and she strode into the compartment.

  “Captain,” she said. “I managed to ID two of the starships that took part in the raid.”

  Glen looked up, impressed. Most starships were unique, but it didn't take much effort to jimmy the drive fields to produce a different signature. If Cynthia was correct – and she certainly sounded confident – they were a step closer to identifying the people behind the attack. But the data they received hadn't been too clear. The colonial analysts had had to admit defeat.

  “I ran it through some processing systems that we developed in the Core Worlds,” Cynthia said. “Sensor tech has always been an interest of ours and ...”

  “I know,” Glen said, dryly. Human sensors had always been better than their enemies, one of the few advantages the humans had enjoyed during the opening years of the war. The Dragons had spent more effort on developing weapons instead of sensors or even defensive shields. “Get to the point.”

  Cynthia flushed, then nodded. “The processors allow us to pick out more detail from starship drives than most people assume,” she said. “Specifically, we can pick out the harmonics in the inner drive sphere, which pirates rarely bother to retune. As long as they don’t know that, we can actually ID pirate ships with a high degree of certainty. In this case, there was a light cruiser and a destroyer that were definitely ex-TFN. Both of them were sold to the Colonial Militia.”

  Glen stared at her. “You’re sure?”

  “There are literally trillions of possible drive harmonic combinations,” Cynthia said. “The odds against two ships of the same class having the same combination are very low. I’ve sent a message back to Bottleneck to ask them to dig up the records to confirm my work, but I don't think they will find anything that contradicts my work.”

  “I see,” Glen said. Had the attack actually been carried out by the Colonial Militia? Or a rogue group within the military? Or ...? “What happened to the ships?”

  “According to the records, they were stripped of TFN-only gear a year ago and placed on the market,” Cynthia said. “A buyer representing the colonies snapped them up and had them picked up by a makeshift crew. After that, we lost track of them.”

  Because the colonies were secretive with their military force, Glen thought. The intelligence reports hadn't mentioned the captured carrier. Or, for that matter, given a precise order of battle for the colonials. They don’t want anyone to know the exact details.

  Cynthia placed her fingertips together. “I must say that I don't like the timing, Captain,” she said. “Those ships were involved in a brutal slaughter at the exact same time the Federation appointed a new Governor to the cluster. It is quite possible that the Colonial Militia is fragmenting, just like the resistance forces on New Tandberg.”

  Glen winced. New Tandberg had a higher population than most of the worlds the Dragons had occupied and a consequently larger resistance movement. When the Dragon CO had finally – and unusually – surrendered, part of the resistance movement had accepted the surrender ... and part of it had not, continuing the war until the Dragons were finally removed by the Federation Navy. Now, New Tandberg was fighting a civil war, despite the presence of Federation Marines. The planet’s unity hadn't lasted past the end of their war.

  But the Colonial Militia had far more firepower than any mere resistance network. If they fragmented, the results were likely to be disastrous.

  Sandy’s father didn't tell me that, he thought. Most politicians would have hesitated to admit weakness, but his impression of General Mannerheim had been that he would have been honest, if he’d been asked. What if the Militia is fragmenting?

  “Send me a copy of your analysis,” he ordered, finally. “And then I’ll decide what to do with it.”

  “I would advise against sharing it with Commander Mannerheim,” Cynthia said. She stood, folding her hands behind her back. “Her father is intimately involved with the Colonial Militia. If he is running a bluff and trying to convince us that the Militia is strong and united, he may react badly to knowing that his secret is out.”

  Glen scowled. “And yet you have no proof of any wrongdoing ...?”

  Cynthia kept her face expressionless. “There are certain people who are ... compromised, regardless of their own intentions,” she said. “Commander Mannerheim could be expected to have ties to her father, who just happens to be a Person of Interest to Intelligence. I would not clear her to work in anything relating to military intelligence, just because of such connections. It may not seem fair, or just, but it is far easier to prevent her from entering than repairing the damage afterwards, if she turned on us.”

  “You're judging someone by their relatives,” Glen snapped.

  “Yes,” Cynthia agreed. “Because relatives can bring staggering pressure to bear on someone to make them talk.”

  Glen watched her leave his cabin, then rubbed his eyes as soon as the hatch closed. Nothing about the whole affair made sense! The Colonial Militia gained nothing from carrying out the attack, which would be sure to sour relationships with the Federation ... and yet it seemed that they had launched the attack anyway. And then the General had either lied to him or hadn’t known the truth ... if, of course, Cynthia was correct.

  It definitely didn't make sense.

  ***

  The kindest thing anyone had ever said about New Haven was that it was worthless, Jason decided, as he stepped out of the shuttle. It was an oddity among Earth-compatible worlds; the planet was hot, had little water and was largely desert. The Dragons had loved it, naturally; they’d slaughtered the human settlers and landed a large colony mission of their own on the planet’s soil. Later, when the war turned against the Dragons, the Colonial Militia had blasted the alien settlements from orbit and moved on. No o
ne had thought the planet worthy of resettlement.

  Well, no one apart from the criminals, Jason thought. The remains of the human settlement had been declared neutral ground by the various criminal networks that existed on the very edge of the Bottleneck Republic. There were no laws on New Haven; pirates, mercenaries and even super-criminals landed and mingled with their fellows, trading everything from stolen goods to kidnapped children. Or slaves, taken from planets still struggling to survive after the war.

  This time, Mr. Ford had insisted on meeting him in a small hotel. Quite why one even existed on New Haven was an open question, but Jason had to admit that it was guaranteed private. The staff knew to keep their mouths shut, no matter what they heard discussed. A young girl with a dress that barely came down to her thighs led him up a rickety staircase and into a tiny room. Mr. Ford sat on the bed, reading a datapad.