Knight's Move

by Nuttall, Christopher

  It hadn't been fun when it had finally sunk in that he could be killed. The realisation would have made him freeze, if training hadn't taken over. He could have died when a missile struck his ship, or been condemned to a long slow death if the drive system failed, trapping them in hyperspace or a hostile star system. Glen had recovered; others, he’d been told, had not. Some promising cadets had never lived up to their potential once they were in interstellar space.

  “If he grumbles too much,” he said, “tell him that there will be plenty of action in the future.”

  Sandy picked up her queen, then paused. “You think so?”

  “There's the people who attacked Tyson’s Rest,” Glen said. “Then there are pirates, raiders, terrorists and even the Dragon warlords. I dare say that we will be very busy for years to come, even if the TFN is cutting down the number of deployable hulls. And next time we discover a starship pirates attacked, we can add him to the away team.”

  He shuddered at the memory. Pirates had grown up like weeds during the war, even though they’d been careful not to attack escorted convoys. He’d seen the aftermath of their attacks, back when he'd been an Ensign himself. Pirates sometimes took prisoners, but sometimes they merely had their fun and left, leaving the bodies behind. It wasn't too hard to understand the colonial attitude towards the Dragons – and all other aliens. The TFN felt the same way about pirates.

  “Poor kid,” Sandy said, although there was a hint of amusement in her tone. “You really think he deserves that sort of punishment?”

  Glen shrugged. “The sooner he learns that it isn't a game, the better,” he said. “We can't have him thinking that it’s all fun and games out here.”

  He scowled as he moved his king back, dodging her attack. The TFN would have problems as experienced officers and crewmen confronted newcomers who hadn't served during the war. Some of them wouldn't learn anything from their experienced comrades, others would think they knew best because they had never really been tested. And, with so many officers and crew taking early retirement, the overall level of experience was likely to drop. How many lessons, learnt in the fires of war, would have to be relearned with blood?

  “I’ll see to it,” Sandy promised. She moved a knight, then smiled. “Check.”

  Glen opened his mouth to protest, but the intercom buzzed before he could say a word. “Captain,” Danielle’s voice said, “we’re picking up a distress signal from Putrajaya. They’re under attack. Their message reported several unknown starships opening fire before we lost all contact.”

  “Understood,” Glen said.

  He thought rapidly. If they hadn't had the convoy to escort, he wouldn't have hesitated; he had a legal and moral obligation to protect humans, even if their exact legal status was in doubt. But they did have the convoy ... and Independence would head back to Putrajaya at once, no matter what he did. He couldn't leave the light cruiser to tackle a force of unknown power on her own. There was no real alternative.

  “Contact the convoy commanders; inform them that they will have to hold position in hyperspace,” he ordered. “Then alter course and take us back to Putrajaya, best possible speed.”

  “Yes, sir,” Danielle said. “Should I inform the local government?”

  “Negative,” Glen said. “It’s too likely that the attackers will pick up the message.”

  He looked over at Sandy, who was watching him through expressionless eyes. Was she surprised, he wondered, that he was prepared to put himself and his ship between colonials and the mystery attackers? Or was she pleased that he was willing to risk his life and the lives of his crew to defend humans? It wasn't a question he could ask. Instead, he stood and led the way towards the bridge.

  “Captain on the bridge,” Cooke said, as he stepped through the hatch. “Captain, we will be back in the system in five minutes.”

  Glen nodded as he sat down in the command chair. The attackers had timed their attack badly ... or had they? What did they really have in mind? It couldn't be a coincidence that their attack had come just after Dauntless and her convoy had left, having unloaded hundreds of tons of supplies for the aliens. Glen knew better than to believe in coincidences, particularly unlikely ones. They just didn't happen.

  “Red alert,” he ordered. He could worry about what was actually going on after the battle was done. “All hands to battle stations.”

  “All stations report ready,” Sandy reported, a minute later.

  “Weapons online, ready to fire,” Cooke added. He sounded confident, although Dauntless had yet to have her first real combat test. “Defence grid armed, ready to fire.”

  “Establish a datalink with Independence,” Glen ordered. They’d be fighting side-by-side with a colonial warship. If nothing else, the experience would tell them a great deal about the colonial military machine. “And then take us out of hyperspace.”

  He braced himself. “And send a signal to Fairfax, copied to Bottleneck,” he added. There would be bare seconds for the attackers to notice the signal, not long enough for them to change their tactics or start running. “Inform them that we are about to engage the enemy.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Captain,” Dana said, sharply, “I’m picking up two portals forming ...”

  “I see them,” Jason said. Two portals were blossoming into life, far too close to the planet for comfort. Moments later, they disgorged a pair of starships and then faded away into nothingness. “Alter course to evade.”

  “Reading one heavy cruiser, Federation Navy, and one light cruiser, Colonial Militia,” Dana added. “They’re advancing towards us on attack vector.”

  Jason hesitated, contemplating the tactical situation. They might be able to defeat both starships, but only at a cost. Few people willingly tangled with the Colonial Militia, not when years of fighting had turned them into ruthless opponents; the Federation Navy, too, had a reputation for icy determination that had led them to fight and win the Battle of Sphere-Prime. Their political leaders might be determined to forget that the war had ever taken place, but he dared not assume that the starship commander facing him was that idiotic.

  “Continue to evade,” he ordered. They’d hit most of their targets on the planet’s surface, including the most important one. “And prepare to engage if they come after us.”

  ***

  Glen stared down at the live feed from the sensors and knew that they were facing the same people who had attacked Tyson’s Rest. Whoever they were, whatever they had in mind, the attack pattern was distinctive. They’d taken out government buildings, military bases and communications centres on the planet before, but they’d saved the worst for the alien refugee camp. The camp had not only been hit badly, it had been wiped out of existence. They hadn't bothered with sending in the ground troops this time.

  They’re all dead, he thought, remembering the listless Dragons and the handful of humans trying to supervise them. All gone.

  He shuddered, inwardly. The whole idea of humanising the Dragons still struck him as absurd, but the people trying it hadn’t deserved to die. They certainly hadn't deserved to be blasted from orbit, wiped out as casually as one might order dinner. But there had been nothing anyone could do to save them. The sensor readings made it clear that the planetary defence network had been smashed.

  “Nine starships; one light cruiser, two frigates, five destroyers and one armed freighter,” Cooke said. The display updated rapidly as the enemy ships started to move away from the planet. “Captain, I have positively identified three of them as being present during the attack on Tyson’s Rest.”

  Glen smiled, coldly. It was unlikely that the raiders would stand and fight, no matter their political case. In his experience, terrorists rarely picked fights against people who might be able to stand up for themselves. But they couldn't be allowed to escape, not when they would come back again and again. They had to be pinned down and destroyed now.

  “Take us towards the light cruiser,” he ordered. It was the most dange
rous threat, even though the destroyers were more numerous. “Maximum acceleration.”

  He studied the sensor readings as they closed in on the light cruiser. It seemed to be fully-functional, something that was unusual for a pirate ship. They were generally slackers when it came to maintaining their vessels. He glared down at the display as he realised that would add extra ammunition to Cynthia’s insistence that they were dealing with rogue colonial ships, rather than pirates or simple raiders. But they would need physical evidence to actually move against the backers, if indeed there were backers. At least one revenge attack on the other side of the Great Wall had been carried out by a man who’d acted alone.

  “Weapons range in five minutes,” Cooke reported. “Enemy ship is accelerating.”

  Glen nodded, trying to put himself in his enemy’s shoes. What was he thinking? What would he do? In his place, Glen would have ordered his ships to scatter, knowing that the two hostile ships couldn't chase them all down. But if they stuck together, they’d have their best chance of winning if it came down to a fight.

  We’d take a bite out of them even if we lost, Glen thought, slowly. They shouldn't stand and fight. So ... why aren't they running?

  They’d been lucky, he realised, as the enemy ship fought to pick up speed. Dauntless had come out of hyperspace at a respectable speed, while the enemy ship had been dawdling as it carried out its mission. Unless they opened a portal and vanished into hyperspace, they were going to be caught. They had to know it.

  So what sort of game were they playing?

  ***

  Jason looked over at Dana. “General orders,” he said. “All ships are to scatter; I say again, all ships are to scatter. They are to meet us at the RV point.”

  “Understood,” Dana said. She showed no sign of caring, but he heard several other crewmen exhale in relief. They all knew that a missile duel with an oncoming warship was a losing proposition. “Message relayed.”

  “Prepare to drop static bombs as soon as we enter hyperspace,” Jason added. It was risky as hell, but it was the only way to ensure that the Federation warship didn't chase them through the alternate dimension. He watched for a long moment as his ships scattered, then scowled as he realised that the feds were clinging to Havoc like leeches. “Open the portal ... now!”

  Space twisted in front of them as they dived into hyperspace. For a moment, Jason actually thought that the Federation warship would try to make it through the portal before it closed, then the portal snapped out of existence. It was rare for any starship to try to enter a portal opened by another ship; it was risky enough when starfighters did it, when their mothership launched them while they were in hyperspace. If the Federation Captain had tried ...

  “Drop the static bomb,” he ordered. “And then set course for Ida.”

  ***

  “Take us after them,” Glen snapped. Jumping into hyperspace in hot pursuit was risky, but he was damned if he was letting the bastards get away that easily. Besides, if they came after them quickly enough, they wouldn't have time to use a static bomb to cover their tracks. “Open a portal and take us in.”

  “Aye, sir,” Helena said. The portal blossomed to life in front of them, sucking the starship into hyperspace. “Transit complete ... hellfire!”

  Glen swallowed his own curse. Hyperspace rolled and seethed around them, suggesting that the enemy starship had triggered a static bomb. It wouldn't cause any real damage, he hoped, but it would make pursuit almost impossible. There was no way they could track the enemy craft – any enemy craft – in the midst of the storm. All they could do was return to normal space and wait for it to recede.

  “Take us back,” he ordered, tiredly. They’d failed. The enemy had carried out their attack, butchered God alone knew how many humans and aliens, then escaped without taking a single casualty. “Stand down from red alert, then prep the medics for immediate deployment.”

  He gritted his teeth as Dauntless returned to normal space. There was no way to hide their failure, even if he had been inclined to try. The Governor would accuse the colonials of carrying out the attack, even though hundreds of their own people had been slaughtered; the colonials would demand that the Federation Navy actually did something to help. He’d hoped that Dauntless’s arrival would help the situation, but instead it had made it worse.

  Given what they did on Tyson’s Rest, they may even have planned to retreat before we arrived, he thought, sourly. We might not have chased them away at all.

  “No further enemy contacts detected,” Cooke reported. “Independence concurs. They all fled.”

  “And they got away completely,” Sandy’s voice muttered, over the command link. “Not even a scratch on their hull.”

  Glen frowned. Forcing a fleet to give battle wasn't easy; the Dragons had launched their two drives on Earth in hopes of pushing the Federation Navy to stand and fight. As long as the enemy kept their portal generators in readiness, they could jump out as soon as Dauntless or the Colonial Militia arrived. It was frustrating to know that they could beat the enemy, if only they could trap them ...

  “We’ll catch them,” he said. “For the moment, we have to concentrate on helping people.”

  “There’s nothing we can do for the Dragons,” Sandy reminded him. “Their island was nuked.”

  Glen swore out loud as he saw the detailed sensor readings. The entire island had been scorched clean of life, leaving only radioactive debris where the refugee camp had once stood. God knew that the planetary authorities wouldn't be able to clean up the mess, not without assistance from outside the star system. And somehow he doubted that the colonies would be able to provide the help. The entire island might have to be sealed off completely, at least until a decontamination team could be spared.

  “Get in touch with the planetary government,” he ordered, tiredly. “Find out what they need that we can provide, then provide it.”

  He stood, addressing the bridge crew. “Well done, all of you,” he said. Dauntless had performed well for her first real test, even if they hadn't managed to fire a single shot before the enemy had retreated. Next time, he promised himself, there would be a reckoning. “Stand down from red alert.”

  Leaving Cooke in command of the bridge, he walked into his office and sat at the desk, trying to compose his report. The Governor would definitely not be pleased when she heard the news; if nothing else, the colonials would be even less inclined to listen to her when it became clear that the Federation Navy had failed to protect the world below. And the Admiralty would not be pleased either. Those without combat experience would suggest that only incompetence had allowed the enemy to escape.

  “We have to get ahead of them, somehow,” he told himself. “But how?”

  He scowled. Two worlds had been targeted – and both attacks had been centred on alien refugee camps. Logically, all other alien refugee camps had to be considered potential targets. There were thirty-one camps in the sector, giving them poor odds of getting the right camp if they tried to lay an ambush. Blanketing them all with enough starships to stand off the enemy squadron would not be easy. The Colonial Militia would not strip the human worlds of defenders just to protect aliens, while it would take weeks for reinforcements to arrive from Bottleneck.

  And there wouldn't be enough starships at Bottleneck to cover them all, he thought. Not unless they were reinforced.

  “Look for the pattern,” he said. “Unless they're complete psychopaths ...”

  The pattern was clear the moment he looked at the list of targeted worlds. Both of the attacked worlds were on the list of planets – of refugee camps – the governor intended to help. She'd marked down six for her direct assistance, worlds that were unable or unwilling to provide the level of support the aliens required. Two of the six would no longer need to feed the aliens now; they’d barely be able to feed themselves. That gave the enemy four more possible targets ... assuming they stuck with the pattern, of course. Four targets would be easier to manage than thirty
-one.

  But he knew better than to assume they would stay with the pattern. Every tactical manual in the Federation warned its readers against becoming predicable. The next target would, perhaps, not be on the governor’s list. That brought the list of potential targets back up to twenty-nine ...

  “If they wanted to slaughter aliens,” he said, out loud, “they didn't have to wait for us to arrive ...”

  He grinned, suddenly, as he realised what was missing. The Governor hadn't told anyone, apart from a handful of colonial politicians, which worlds she intended to visit. Dauntless hadn't filed a flight plan with the Colonial Militia ... he rocked back in his chair as he realised the possible implications. Independence might be covertly monitoring their progress and relaying targeting data to the raiders. Even if that wasn't true, the Governor would definitely jump to the conclusion that there was a leak somewhere in the colonies.

  His intercom buzzed. “Captain,” Sandy’s voice said, “the planetary government has requested that we deploy Marines as well as medics. They need help keeping order.”