First Strike

by Christopher Nuttall

  But according to ONI – and some of humanity’s alien allies – the Hegemony had suffered a colossal political earthquake. Two clans had collapsed, leaving their people at the mercy of their enemies. Their creditors were already moving in and enslaving lesser clansmen to ensure that they got at least some of their money back. The projections varied from analyst to analyst, but they all agreed that the shockwaves had only just begun. How long would it be until the Hegemony collapsed into civil war? Some reports claimed that martial law had already been declared on Hegemony Prime. It might not bode well for Formidable and her mission.

  “I’ll ensure that starships are sent to deal with the enemy force on Clarke,” he reluctantly said. At best, they’d mop up the enemy ground troops quickly, assuming the enemy battlecruiser was alone or pulled out before the cruisers arrived. The alternative was that an isolated human force would fly right into a trap. “I suppose they’re not going to release any of the ships covering Earth?”

  “Not a one,” Sun agreed. “They won’t even release the damaged ships we purchased from shady used-starship dealers. God knows that most of them aren't fit for combat anyway. We need more cruisers, Admiral.”

  “Tell me about it,” Tobias agreed, tiredly. Humanity had strained every muscle to build the Federation Navy, yet there had only been twenty-five cruisers at the start of the war. Ten more were under construction in the Luna Yard, but the most optimistic estimate said that they wouldn’t be completed and worked up for battle for another six months. By then, Earth’s economy would probably have collapsed even if the Hegemony was still hanging on. God alone knew what would happen to the market once the news of Clarke’s fall got out to the media. “I’ll update you once I decide which ships to send.”

  He closed the channel and tapped his console, bringing up the fleet’s order of battle. The new squadron of cruisers from Earth – which had arrived just prior to news of Clarke – made up the holes in his force, but their crews weren't anything like as experienced as the veterans from the original squadrons. Tobias had ordered extensive training and exercises while the repair crews worked on the damaged ships and salvaged what they could from the remains of Hammerfall’s once-proud facilities. The irony would have been funny if it hadn't been so irritating; the Galactics used standardized equipment, but some human technology was incompatible with items that any other race could plug into their own ships and expect to work perfectly.

  A message blipped up on his screen and he frowned. His galactic mail account was known to only a handful of people, which didn't stop him from receiving his fair share of spam messages from across the galaxy. Quite why a spammer would think that he would be interested in sexual treatments devised for a race that had five different sexes was beyond him; it made less sense than sending him messages that offered to improve the size of his breasts. At least they went to the right race, if not the right sex. Some of the messages were clearly useless, but one of them was from an address he recognised.

  He opened it and read it, and then reached for the dictionary. The code was a simple one, but almost unbreakable without an understanding of English and a copy of the book used to encode the message. Earth’s vast spectrum of languages had puzzled the Cats when they’d first discovered Earth; they’d unified their languages into Galactic One by the time they’d left their solar system and started poking through quantum space. The insurgents on Terra Nova had used languages as code at first, but the Funks had eventually started programming their translators to decrypt them automatically. They had had their own multiple language problem, although in their case a unified language had been forced on them by the First Empress.

  Joshua Wachter had learned something, something so important that he’d decided to take the risk of communicating with the Federation Navy. Tobias had no intention of actually enforcing the Federation Council’s orders regarding the pirate king, but it would cause a great deal of political embarrassment if the media realised that Wachter had had a direct line to the CNO. It wouldn't take a conspiracy theorist to realise that the CNO might have been quietly backing him ever since he’d left Earth. Tobias read through the message twice, feeling ice congealing within his chest. There were fifteen enemy superdreadnoughts that had left their sector and were – presumably – on their way to the war.

  Tobias calmed his mind with as much mental discipline as he could muster and tapped a key, bringing up the star chart. Every spacer knew how to estimate transit times – and every spacer knew that the estimates were rarely completely accurate. The enemy ships might have been in transit for up to a week prior to Wachter discovering that they were gone; hell, the discovery might have been what tempted him to liberate the Gobbles in the first place. And that meant...

  Where were they going? Hammerfall made little sense any longer, not now the system had been rendered totally worthless. The Funks could plan on crushing the Federation Navy, but they had to know that Tobias wouldn't fight for Hammerfall against superior forces, no matter how important the media claimed the planet to be. They couldn't hope to catch Tobias if he chose to avoid engagement...

  …Unless they went to Earth. He wanted to avoid even considering the possibility, but the Federation Navy had extensively gamed Earth-Hegemony scenarios ever since the occupation of Terra Nova. They’d known that the Hegemony was far larger than Earth’s paltry Nine Stars. The best option for the Funks to win outright was to fight a delaying action, concentrate their naval forces and then attack Earth directly. If they were lucky, the main body of the Federation Navy would be light-years from the planet when they attacked – and even if they weren't lucky, they would have a chance to force the Federation Navy to fight on unfavourable terms. Speed meant nothing when the enemy was advancing on a target the Federation Navy had to defend.

  And if the Funks took that objective… game over.

  There was Bolthole, of course, but no one knew better than Tobias that Bolthole was a gamble with no guarantee of success. Past the Rim, past the space explored by the Association, it was far harder to navigate in quantum space. The Bolthole ship might find a habitable world several thousand light years from Earth and establish a colony that would become a new homeworld for the human race, or it might run into hostile aliens and be destroyed. ONI had collected all the information it could on the space beyond the Rim, but most of it boiled down to ‘here there be dragons.’ Anyone who knew anything concrete wasn't talking.

  The Funks were certainly watching Hammerfall. Their ships had been detected making brief transmissions to their superiors before they vanished back into cloak. A star system was an immense place to hide, particularly if they were only monitoring drive signatures with passive sensors; there was little hope that the Federation Navy would track them down and destroy the spies. And that meant that the Funks would know if the Federation Navy withdrew from the system. Or would they?

  A plan slowly started to take shape in his mind. The Funks were gambling, drawing down their forces on the Tarn border to dangerously low levels. It had to be their final attempt at winning the war outright. Another failure would topple the Empress and trigger a civil war. If Tobias could get First Strike Fleet back to Earth in time to intercept the enemy superdreadnoughts, Earth might be saved. And if the Hegemony believed that First Strike Fleet remained at Hammerfall, their estimates of how powerful the Federation Navy was would become distorted. ECM drones could pose as the cruisers for a few weeks. If worst came to worst, Hammerfall would be recaptured – but keeping Hammerfall wasn't worth losing Earth. Without Earth, their only option would be surrender.

  He keyed his console and opened a channel. “Command conference, right now,” he ordered. He’d have to share his thoughts with his officers, make the deployments – and then order a complete media blackout. At least he didn't need anyone’s approval for fleet deployments. Even sending a message back to Earth might be risky. Who knew who might be listening? “And then authorize Blackout. I say again, authorize Blackout.”

  * * *

>   The newspaper had been in decline before first contact, challenged by television and then by the internet, the most remarkable medium for spreading lies and half-truths ever invented. But First Contact had given them a new chance at life. Streaming video over light years was incredibly expensive, making it far cheaper to simply send compressed text. Adrienne was halfway through writing a report on Hammerfall when her cabin’s hatch chimed. When she opened it, she saw a grim-faced Marine carrying a sidearm.

  “Excuse me,” he said, in a tone that was both polite and firm, “but I’m afraid I have to secure all of your electronic devices.”

  Adrienne gaped at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I have been ordered to secure all of your electronic devices,” the Marine said. There was no give in his voice at all. “All of them, including your watch. I must warn you that attempting to conceal electronic devices until the lockdown is lifted will result in brig time and charges of attempted espionage when we return to Earth. If you would prefer brig time, please let me know.”

  “No, thank you,” Adrienne said, stiffly. The Marine was only doing his job, even if it did impinge on her ability to do hers. It was about as pointless as ordering passengers on a jumbo jet to turn off their cell phones, but pointing that out would be equally pointless. “I have a tablet, a laptop and a secure storage hard drive. And a watch.”

  The Marine picked them up and scribbled out a receipt for her. “I have to search your cabin as well,” he added, more apologetically now that she was cooperating. “Blackout has been declared.”

  Adrienne lifted an eyebrow. Blackout? Hadn't there been something in the papers she’d signed when she’d embedded about Blackout? She thought back, remembering that the military had the right to completely forbid transmissions from its ships if it believed that making transmissions would violate operational security. Taking her laptop seemed like pointless paranoia, but some reporters had managed to hack starship communications systems before and use them to get messages out.

  “I forgot to bring my lacy underwear,” she said. “It’s all strictly functional, I’m afraid.”

  She’d hoped to get a rise out of the Marine, but he ignored her and searched her cabin with rigorous efficiency. Adrienne rolled her eyes behind him as he removed the sex toy she’d brought along and dropped it into his bag. Did he think she’d hidden a transmitter in a vibrator?

  “Thank you for your cooperation,” the Marine said, gravely. “The items will be returned as soon as possible.”

  He left, leaving a puzzled Adrienne sitting in her cabin.

  Something was up, but what?

  Chapter Forty

  “Miserable looking world, isn’t it?”

  “I couldn't say, sir,” Commander Spinner said. “I grew up in Nevada. We were used to deserts.”

  Markus shrugged. The Funk homeworld – called Squeak Hiss Squeak by the Funks and Hegemony Prime by everyone else – was as dry as dust. Most of the planet’s water existed below the surface, with only a couple of Australia-sized seas. It wasn't a pure desert, but it was easy to see how it had evolved a race determined to reach out and take every resource it could. The Funks had yet to evolve past the patterns they’d developed for survival on their world and they might never manage to do so. It wasn't as if anyone had stood up to them before humanity had given them a bloody nose.

  The Funks might have copied Galactic technology without developing more for themselves, but they’d used what they’d copied ruthlessly. A massive shipyard hung near Hegemony Prime, protected by a network of fortifications and patrolled by destroyers and frigates. The Funk Home Fleet orbited the planet itself, watching endlessly for signs of a possible attack – and, according to the transmissions, providing a very visible reminder of the Empress’s power. It sounded as if parts of the planet were under martial law.

  “I don’t think we’ll get much closer,” Spinner added. “They’re checking every freighter before it even enters orbit.”

  “Clever of them,” Markus said. The Funks didn't want another freighter crammed with antimatter detonating anywhere in their system. It would probably render Hegemony Prime uninhabitable, which would have brought the wrath of the Galactics down on Earth, but in their place he wouldn't take it for granted either. The Traders Alliance had actually helped, in some ways, by declaring their embargo. They’d managed to limit the number of freighters visiting Hegemony Prime, which made it easier for the Funks to inspect them all without undue delay. “And the minute they get a close look at our hull, they’ll realise that we’re rigged up to launch gunboats.”

  It was unlikely in the extreme that the gunboats would be able to inflict any major damage on their own. Even if their enemy hadn't the experience and motivation to develop countermeasures, they’d have had to burn through massive defences before reaching any vital target. A swarm of gunboats – or the missiles deployed at Hammerfall – might have worked, but Earth didn't have enough gunboats to punch through the planet’s defences. Markus was silently grateful that he’d hashed out a plan that might work, even though he felt guilty about asking people to take on risks he wouldn't be facing himself. But if the Hegemony managed to capture him alive, they’d ensure that his death was slow and very painful.

  He tapped his console. “Sergeant McDonald,” he said, “are you ready to deploy?”

  “Yes, sir,” the Marine said. He’d volunteered for the mission, once he’d understood what the mission actually entailed. It would be one hell of a stunt if they pulled it off and got out alive. “How long do we have before you go hot?”

  “Roughly seventeen minutes,” Markus said. The enemy shuttles hadn't reached Formidable yet, but they might decide to inspect her earlier once they realised that she was the same class as the ships humanity had turned into gunboat carriers. Or maybe they’d already had plenty of false alerts. The Galactics only had a few dozen different freighter designs. “You may deploy when ready.”

  “Understood, sir,” McDonald said. “Good luck.”

  In the cockpit of his gunboat, Markus been calm and ready to face danger. On the bridge, a helpless observer, he found himself fretting about all the things that could go wrong. His wife Carola was going to be out there, fighting the Funks, while he watched from afar. He could bug out at any minute while she would have to fight her way out. They’d known that they could die together; somehow, the thought of living on without her was intolerable.

  The minutes ticked away as the Marines deployed and the enemy shuttles came closer, sweeping nearby freighters with tactical sensors. Markus braced himself as the gunboats powered up, knowing that this was the most dangerous part of launching them. It hadn't bothered him before that an alert enemy might just be able to destroy Formidable before her gunboats were launched; now, he found himself unable to avoid thinking the worst. How had Captain Walsh made it look so easy to take command?

  “Here they come, sir,” Spinner said. “Two minutes to intercept.”

  “Punch the gunboats,” Markus ordered. Grumble Squadron was blasted free of the carrier, followed rapidly by Eagle and Dare Squadrons. Dare had been transferred from Illustrious to ensure that Formidable had three veteran squadrons, but they’d fit in nicely with the other two. It had probably helped that Markus had chewed out anyone who wanted to pick a fight. “Tell them to fire at will.”

  Led by Carola, Grumble Squadron formed up and charged right at the enemy shuttles. The Funks, caught by surprise, didn't stand a chance. They were picked off and destroyed before they could even scream for help. The remaining gunboats fell on the freighters, hacking them apart before moving on to the next targets. Markus watched helplessly as the planet’s defenders came to life, launching a wing of assault shuttles towards the gunboats. They didn't have the endurance of the gunboats, which was limited compared to that of a starship, but they did have guts – and numbers. Nearly a hundred assault shuttles were closing in on his wife.

  “Grumble Squadron is altering course and deploying drones,” Spinner
reported. “Drones are going active… now!”

  Markus smiled. The Hegemony had seen humanity’s improved ECM drones at Hammerfall, but they had yet to devise a counter. ONI had been certain that one or more of the Galactics would be inspired to invent countermeasures – and sell them onwards to the Funks – sooner or later, but none had materialised in time to aid the defenders. They had to know that some of the sensor returns they were getting were nothing more than ghosts, but it would be impossible to tell the difference unless they reached close range. And if the sensor ghosts were hiding missiles, allowing them to close could be disastrous.

  There were no illusions about how long the sensor ghosts would fool the Hegemony. A smart tactical analyst could probably have sorted half of the fakes from the real gunboats by now, but the ghosts would work long enough to keep the Funks distracted. The real threat lay elsewhere.

  * * *

  The immensity of space could defeat even the most hardened soldier. Humans were less than sand grains on an immense desert; even the largest artificial structures built by the Association were tiny compared to stars and planets. Conrad felt… meaningless, almost insignificant, as he and his Marines drifted closer to their target. It was that very insignificance that gave them a limited immunity from detection, but he knew better than to take it for granted. The Funks would be listening for anything that might betray their presence. A second of radio chatter could get them all killed.

  He watched as the Funk shipyard slowly came into view. It was immense, larger than the shipyards built in orbit around Luna by the human race, a spidery network of structures right out of a science-fiction movie. Unlike the free-floating shipyards designed by humanity, it was one vast structure, a design that provided the Funks with a number of advantages – and at least one weakness. A disaster on one part of the platform might spread to other platforms and cripple the entire complex. His blood ran cold as he saw three superdreadnoughts in varying stages of construction, being slowly assembled by the Funks. How long would it be until they were ready to join the fleet massing to attack the human-held stars? ONI hadn't ventured to even guess at the answer.