First Strike

by Christopher Nuttall

  The last of the Funk starships escaped the formation, fired a final volley of torpedoes and then opened a quantum gate and vanished. They probably hadn't gone far – the Funks would need someone to remain in the system and watch the rebels – but for the moment they were no longer an issue. Joshua barked orders as Blackbeard caught up with the remainder of the formation and headed right towards Tauscher. The planet’s orbital space seemed to have dissolved into chaos. Automated platforms were firing on most of the manned platforms, while some of the other platforms had shut down completely. Joshua whispered a prayer for the unfortunate souls on the dead platforms, even if they were Funks. No spacer wanted to die slowly as the atmosphere turned to poison, rendering the platforms completely uninhabitable.

  “Nineteen ships destroyed outright, twenty-seven damaged,” Karla reported. “And seven fled for fear of losing their lives, the cowardly fuckers. You want to shoot them if they show their faces around here again?”

  “If they do,” Joshua said. The range to the planet’s orbital space was dropping sharply. They had to know who was friendly by the time they reached orbit. “Can you raise someone – anyone?”

  “Nothing,” Karla said. “The orbital datanets appear to have been completely scrambled. It’s possible that they’ve uploaded subversion software to disable platforms that weren’t likely to fall to the rebels. Even if they can still fight, they won't be doing so cohesively.”

  Joshua winced. “Hold our position outside their effective range,” he ordered. “If anyone tries to fire on us, assume that they’re hostile and mark them down for later attention.”

  He tapped his console, opening a link to Xinchub. Whatever cuteness the alien had once had was lost in the sheer number of weapons he carried as he prepared to head down to the planet. The Funks had never bothered to design battlesuits for their clients and even the hidden colonies hadn’t been able to produce a workable version in time, leaving the Gobbles at a disadvantage when facing their masters. It didn't seem to bother them.

  “We need to sort out the friendly platforms from the hostiles,” he said. “Can you get through to your allies?”

  “I’m trying,” Xinchub said. “The Funks are trying to jam radio transmissions from the planetary surface. What little I’m picking up suggests that all-out war has broken out and both sides are being slaughtered.”

  Joshua shuddered. Even humanity couldn't match the Gobbles when it came to sheer unthinking hatred for the Funks. And the Funks had a major population down on the surface, treating the natives in ways that would have made the worst of South Africa’s apartheid racists blanch. Black men had been human too, however reluctant their enemies were to acknowledge it, but there was no such tie between the Gobbles and the Funks. Even without weapons, the Gobbles were likely to slaughter their masters and bathe in their blood.

  “Keep trying to get through to them,” he said. He’d warned Xinchub that he didn't want a slaughter, let alone effective genocide, but it didn't look as if he was in control of the situation any longer. “I’ll…”

  “I’ve got a laser link from one of the stations,” Karla interrupted. “They’re asking to speak to Xinchub.”

  “Put them through to him,” Joshua ordered. There was a long pause as the two Gobbles chattered together in their high-pitched language, defeating the translation program he’d bought from Shadow. From what he’d picked up from the rebels, the Gobbles actually had a simpler version of their language they used to talk to the Galactics. They called it, roughly translated, the Stupid Speech. “What’s happening down there?”

  “We have control of most of the platforms,” Xinchub said. “Tactical data is being uploaded now. The ground is still horrifically confused. We have to get down there as soon as possible.”

  Joshua glanced at the data from the captured platforms. “It should be possible to get you and your men down to the surface without being intercepted by the remaining platforms,” he said. “I assume you wish to launch immediately?”

  “Of course,” Xinchub said. “I’m going home!”

  The fleet slowly advanced on the planet, targeting and picking off the remaining enemy-controlled platforms. Joshua watched dispassionately as they died, one by one, even though they claimed victims before they were finally destroyed. Some of the planet’s defences would have to be rebuilt quickly before the Funks gathered the forces to return and reclaim the planet, although he had been informed that the Funks had used their client world as a base for manufacturing missiles and other military equipment.

  It had seemed a curious oversight on their part to put valuable production nodes near a rebellious planet until Joshua had looked into the history of the occupation. The Hegemony clans that had claimed the planet – and its inhabitants – hadn't had much of a presence anywhere outside the system, for internal political reasons that Joshua hadn't been able to follow. They’d regarded the Gobbles as their last chance to regain prominence – under the Empress, of course – and their lust for power had overridden their common sense. But then, the Gobbles had been under control until Joshua had destroyed or driven away the starships guarding their planet. Resistance would have been pointless.

  Xinchub launched his shuttles as soon as he came into range, hurling thousands of heavily-armed rebels into the teeth of enemy positions. The Funks fought with a savagery born of desperation, pressing every last craft into military service and forcing civilians to join their defenders. Joshua watched helplessly as the captured orbital platforms turned on the planet they were supposed to defend, wiping out Funk fortifications and settlements with a ruthlessness that shocked him. In no more than two hours, hundreds of thousands – perhaps more – of Funks had been slaughtered. There was nowhere to hide for the former masters of the planet. The only survivors were the ones who lived far from any Gobble settlements.

  Joshua redeployed his fleet and sent small detachments to claim the various colonies and industrial nodes scattered throughout the system. Most of them were run by Gobbles and they were quite willing to join the rebels; the remainder, mostly operated by Funks, refused to surrender until Joshua promised not to hand them over to the Gobbles. The penal ship he’d captured months ago would come in handy as a place to hold them until they could be returned to the Hegemony. None of them were any use as hostages. Finally, an uneasy peace covered the entire system. Joshua didn't want to think about how many Funks had died when their slaves had turned on them. The final death toll would probably be in the millions.

  “It was necessary,” Xinchub said, when he returned to Blackbeard a day later. The Gobbles seemed to be firmly in control of most of the system’s infrastructure and they’d already started offering their services to repair the damaged ships. Others were starting work on restoring the disabled platforms, after Joshua had sent shuttles to pick up the Funks. “They needed to understand just how badly we hate them.”

  Joshua found himself at a loss for words. Three Hegemony clans – relatively minor ones, true – had been almost exterminated by the uprising. Whatever their exact relationship with the rest of the clans, or the Empress, the Hegemony could hardly let that go past without retaliating. Even if they didn't blame humanity for the whole affair – and they probably would – they’d still want to punish the Gobbles. A single antimatter torpedo would render the entire planet uninhabitable. The debris falling into the planet’s atmosphere probably wouldn't help. God knew that the Funks had left large parts of the surface an ecological disaster area.

  “I think they got the message,” he said, finally. He’d seen the images from the ground, the pictures of burning cities and slaughtered Funks, their bodies piled high so they could be cremated by orbital lasers. No Funk who remained alive on the planet’s surface could ever feel safe when their family had been brutally murdered. “How do you intend to explain it to the Galactics?”

  “The Galactics have never done anything for us,” Xinchub snarled. “Why should we care about their opinion?”

  It wasn't an at
titude Joshua found hard to share. The Association had done nothing to protect humanity from the ravages of powerful neighbours, any more than they’d done anything to force the Hegemony to let the Gobbles develop in peace. There was something to be said for rubbing their noses in the trauma inflicted on slave races, and what happened when that trauma finally found an outlet, yet it would make it harder for the Gobbles to win allies from outside the Hegemony. And they would need those allies to stave off the Hegemony when the Funks came back, bent on extracting revenge.

  “Because you might need their help,” he said, tiredly. If Earth hadn't already disowned him, it would have done so once news of the slaughter reached home. “They might be willing to help you now that you have freed yourself.”

  “I wouldn't have bet money on that,” Xinchub said. “The Galactics simply don’t care. There is no justice in the universe, or even any agreement on shared ethics and morals. How long will it be until everyone realises that there is no common law?”

  “Not long,” Joshua said. The brushfire wars had started the process, but humanity’s war against the Hegemony had probably accelerated it. Laws had no power unless they were enforced and no-one was interested in serving as the enforcer. The Cats didn't have the will and no one else had the power. Anyone who tried would probably force several other powers to unite against them. “I don't think it will be very long at all.”

  * * *

  “Blackbeard will be a week in the yard,” Karla said, an hour later. “The Gobbles seem pretty sure that they can rebuild her faster than we estimated.”

  “We’ll see,” Joshua said, slowly. He felt tired; not physically tired, but mentally tired. The war had turned savage and it was partly his fault. “And the orbital fortifications?”

  “Repaired,” Karla said. “They’ve improvised a number of systems that will give them a few unexpected surprises when the Funks return. The defences are maybe not as deep as we would like, but the Funks will definitely know that they’ve been kissed.”

  She smiled. “I’m afraid a number of pirates want their loot and then out of here before the Funks come back,” she added. “The rebels are more interested in turning this system into a permanent base. They have families who need somewhere to live where the Funks can’t threaten them.”

  “Maybe they can find a home here,” Joshua said. “God knows there’s plenty of room for them now.”

  Karla reached over and shook him, firmly. “What exactly do you think the Funks expected?” She demanded. “You know how they treated anyone who even dared to question their orders. They might be able to integrate their own race into society after a few generations of slavery, but how could they do that when they couldn't even breed with the non-Funk slaves? The Gobbles were doomed to permanent servitude until we came along and helped them to be free.”

  She snorted, loudly. “The Hegemony wasn't innocent before they encountered us,” she reminded him. “You should know exactly how they treat their own people – and what happens when the masters lose control. How much worse is it on a planet populated by aliens who cannot even claim to own their world?”

  “And it will solve the problem of what to do with the Funk population,” Kang added. “They would have been a major issue if they’d been left alive…”

  “And now millions of them are dead,” Joshua snapped. “Try as I might, I cannot see that as a victory. The blood on our hands will never wash off.”

  “You don’t need to be dramatic about it,” Kang said, dryly. “Look; the Funks treated everyone on the planet below like shit. They got exactly what they deserved when they lost control. It wasn't your fault that the Funks built up such a reservoir of hatred and anger among the locals. You couldn't be blamed for not realising that the teddy bears would turn on their masters as soon as their masters lost the ability to keep them under control.”

  He stood up and headed to the hatch. “I think that we have more important problems,” he added. “You need to prepare this system for the inevitable counterattack.”

  “He’s right,” Karla said, as the hatch closed behind him. “Hey, do you want to go to bed and celebrate again?”

  “I don't feel like celebrating,” Joshua said. The thought of the dead chilled him to the bone, even though part of his anatomy was insisting that he take her up on her offer. “We won today – but I feel as if I lost. What does that say about me?”

  Karla didn't try to answer.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “Come and take a look at this.”

  Trader captain William O’Hare smiled to himself as his youngest son looked up from the sensor console. A warship would have had a trained and experienced officer, but Mother’s Milk was no warship. She was a freighter that was officially older than five hundred years, purchased on the open market by human investors and leased out to William and his family as long as they brought in the goods. His son had yet to lose the certainty that each voyage would bring in a new and remarkable discovery, even though all he’d discovered was a handful of comets and an asteroid that would have been worth something if there hadn't been millions more like it in the asteroid belt. Clarke was not a particularly well-travelled system, yet anything really interesting would have been noted long before the human race learned about the community that existed across the stars.

  He looked down at the sensor console and frowned. There should have been nothing between them and the quantum gate, their only way of entering quantum space. But there was something… it looked almost like turbulence from a cloaked ship. Space wasn't as empty as the average civilian thought, and there were frequent energy discharges that could be mistaken for a cloaked starship, yet this pattern looked too regular to be natural. Someone seemed to be trying to sneak up on Clarke…

  “Send an emergency signal to the planet,” he snapped. “Cloaked ship – or ships – operating near the quantum gate!”

  He hoped – prayed – that the unknown ship wasn't intent on wiping out the human presence within the system. The freighter couldn't run or hide if the enemy wanted to kill them; there was no way she could even get into the quantum gate before being obliterated if the enemy ship opened fire. His action might have doomed them all, but he knew his duty. Humanity had to be warned, even if it cost him his ship and family…

  “I’m picking up a change in energy readings,” his son said. “I think they’re decloaking...”

  William had wondered, briefly, if the ship was a Federation Navy starship running through its final trials. But the decloaking ship was clearly not of human design. The battlecruiser that wobbled into view was Galactic, almost certainly belonging to the Hegemony. William cursed their ill-luck as the battlecruiser locked weapons on their hull, ripping their ship apart with a single burst of phase cannon fire.

  He barely had time to hug his son before the ship exploded around them and they fell into darkness.

  * * *

  Calling Clarke a habitable world required stretching the definition of ‘habitable’ about as far as it would go. Clarke possessed a breathable atmosphere for humans – and most other humanoid races – but its surface was completely infested by foliage that might actually be a sentient life form in its own right. The first settlements on the planetary surface had been destroyed by the local plant life, which had moved with stunning speed to repel the invaders. Later research had discovered that the plant life actually hunted fish and seemed to have domesticated several species of animal. There were even reports that a handful of human survivors had been domesticated and allowed to live in harmony with the plants.

  The main human settlements on the planet had been established on small islands, the largest barely the size of Nantucket. They’d had to use firebombs to sweep the islands clean of native life and replant with seeds from Earth before they could support a growing population, something that couldn't really be applied to the larger continents. It said something about how useless the system was that the Hegemony had never attempted to claim it, which might have been a mis
take on their part. Clarke had plenty of surprises on its surface and some of them were potentially very profitable.

  Governor Mountbatten had been in office for two years when researchers had discovered that the strange plant life could be harvested to produce a surprising number of vaccines and pleasure drugs. Some of them were useless – even poisonous – for humans, but they promised to be a gold mine when they were sold to the Galactics, assuming that the Hegemony didn't simply grab the planet as soon as they realised that it was turning a profit. Mountbatten had been devising a cunning plan to prevent the Funks from discovering the truth when the war began. Since then, he’d prayed for victory. If Clarke became a gold mine, the world he’d come to love might grow into a proper human community – and his career would be boosted into the stratosphere.

  He looked up as the door opened and his aide ran in without knocking. “Governor,” he said, “we’re picking up a very disturbing report from the deep-space tracking network. I think you’d better come see this at once.”

  Mountbatten nodded and followed his aide through the corridors of Government House to System Control. Clarke just didn't have the room for massive sprawling mansions, or separate installations; everything was jammed together in Government House. The Marines had a small training base nearby, shared with the local militia and national contingents from Earth, but apart from them Clarke was almost defenceless. A handful of third-hand automated weapons platforms weren't going to slow any serious attacker down for long.