One hour later, the task force jumped into quantum space and started its voyage towards Earth.
* * *
What if I’m wrong?
The question echoed through Tobias’s mind as the First Strike Fleet raced back towards Earth, desperately preparing for a final confrontation. He was the Admiral in command, yet he had little to do once he’d issued his orders apart from paperwork...and brooding. What if he was wrong? History was littered with commanders who had misjudged their enemies and ended up with egg on their faces – or dead. And they had been guessing at enemies who at least shared a same basic humanity. The Funks were very far from human.
Human commanders had cursed the development of radio – and satellite communications networks – because they made it easy for their superiors to intervene. Tobias was old enough to hear stories about how micromanaging politicians had issued orders from the safety of Washington to the troops on the ground, orders that often bore little resemblance to reality. At least the Federation Navy spent much of its time on deployment outside of easy communications range, allowing him latitude to make his own decisions – but then, the disunity of the Federation Council made it easier to run the war. They set the objective; Tobias and his subordinates concentrated on making it happen.
But right now, he would have sold his soul for a far more capable form of interstellar communications network. In quantum space, they were blind. It was impossible to tell if Formidable had succeeded in her mission, or if the Funks had realised what she was and destroyed her before she could launch her gunboats. And… what if the data they’d picked up from the pirate king was inaccurate. If the Funks had left a week earlier than reported, it was possible that they’d already reached Earth while the Federation Navy remained in quantum space. They might return home to discover that their world was a charred cinder, with the defence force burning in space. What would be left for them, but revenge?
He’d passed on a coded warning to Sun, who would command the fleet defending Earth, but he hadn't gone into details about his own plans. Once they reached Earth, he intended to keep the First Strike Fleet under cloak, well away from the shipping lanes. The Funks would probably have the system under observation and would report to their commanders if a fleet of cruisers arrived from Hammerfall. He suspected that smaller ships would soon recover the wrecked system in the name of the Hegemony, but it would be a pointless victory. The loss of Garston would be more serious.
And there was another danger. If the Federation Council declared a state of emergency, warning Earth’s population to get to the shelters, there would be panic – and enemy observation ships might pick up on it. The shipyards would have to be evacuated, the asteroid mining colonies would have to go dark… all precautions that were senseless, unless someone expected an attack. If the Funks realised that their arrival had been anticipated, they might change their plans. Or maybe they’d attack anyway. If Formidable had succeeded, the Hegemony was going to have a very rough time of it before it pulled back together. Taking out Earth would cripple the human race.
But that decision wasn't his, thankfully. He just had to assume the worst.
The Admiral had no one he could confide in, not even his aide. He was solely responsible for the First Strike Fleet, the man who ordered it into battle. No one could become close to him without violating regulations. Lower ranks might be allowed to fraternise provided they were careful about who they slept with – and gunboat pilots enjoyed a degree of freedom no other personnel could dream of – but the Admiral was alone. Some military officers in the past had enjoyed having their mistresses or even their wives with him, yet Tobias would never have been able to allow himself to fall so far. The Federation Navy needed a tradition where its officers didn't rub their advantages in the faces of the enlisted men.
Shaking his head, he headed for his bunk and sleep. His officers knew to wake him if there was a problem, such as an energy storm that forced them to alter course. And he needed rest before arriving at Earth, assuming they weren't too late.
And what if he was wrong?
Despite himself, he got very little sleep that night.
* * *
The President of the United States didn’t care for Admiral Sun and he suspected that the feeling was mutual. It had been the United States that had blocked Sun’s candidature for the Federation Navy’s Chief of Naval Operations, a political deal that had been planned with the Russians to ensure that General Chekov was named Supreme Allied Commander Extra-Solar Expeditionary Force, and Sun presumably suspected it. Even an officer from a state where it was unwise to dissent too openly with one’s superiors could resent his superiors; officers like that were often the best intelligence sources in the business.
But with Admiral Sampson at Hammerfall, Admiral Sun was in command of the Earth Defence Fleet.
“Assuming that the reports are accurate,” Admiral Sun said, “we can expect a Hegemony battle force to reach Earth within one week to two months.”
The President watched the reactions of the other world leaders. Organising the conference at such short notice had been difficult, even though the Federation Council had been conferring regularly ever since the war had kicked off. The secret of politics was that it was often more important to seem to be doing something rather than actually doing something, even if you couldn't do anything more than get in the way. He’d told himself that he’d do things differently when he became President, only to discover that there was little choice. Politics often got in the way of politicking.
“But the Hegemony has just lost a major shipyard,” the Japanese Prime Minister said. He sounded worried, but then Japan had had plenty of experience with surprise attacks as a way to start a war. They always tended to be merciless. “Surely they cannot risk additional losses.”
“I have a different question,” the German Chancellor grunted. “How is it that we know about this?”
Sun hesitated. “Classified intelligence sources,” he said, finally. “I’m afraid we have to keep them strictly compartmentalised…”
“How dare you?” The French President demanded. “The Federation Council is above suspicion!”
The President would have sniggered if he hadn't had good control of his expressions. Trying to steer the Federation Council was rather like herding cats, with each member trying to get an advantage for his own country out of the system. At least they were all grown up enough not to bring down the Federation in their power games. The same couldn't be said for some of their countrymen. Despite Terra Nova, despite the endless threats from the Hegemony, there were plenty of Americans who saw the Federation as just another prototype world government, one that would swallow up America and destroy everything that made the country great. It had amused the hell out of him to discover that every other world leader had similar problems.
Admiral Sun didn't snicker either. “The Federation Councillors are supported by small armies of aides,” he said. “Are they all trustworthy? What about the secretaries? Or the interns? Or the guards? Are they all such paragons of virtue that secrets can be freely discussed in front of them?”
The President smiled. Bill Clinton should have been more careful about trusting the intern who’d given him oral sex, although he had no idea how Clinton had found the time. The President was always busy, mostly reading reports, listening to briefings and pressing the flesh. It was easy to believe that one of the people working for him reported to someone else without his permission. Information was power in the American government, particularly if you got it first.
“That isn't the issue at hand,” the President said, cutting into the discussion. Perhaps Sun wasn't such a bad guy after all. “We believe that we have an attack incoming. Do we declare a state of planetary emergency or do we take the chance that the reports are false?”
He looked from face to face. “This has to be a joint decision,” he said. “We cannot have one of us declaring a state of emergency and expect the media not to notice. There will be panic.
”
“And if we do declare a state of emergency,” the French President pointed out, “the economy goes down the tubes. It's fragile right now, even with the loans from the Galactics.”
The President scowled at him. He would have bet good money that the Frenchman’s ugly wife, bratty teenage daughter and two preteen sons were already on their way to somewhere safe. The Secret Service had provided him with a dossier on their behaviour during a state visit to the White House that had made interesting reading. It was a pity that it probably couldn't be used for blackmail material.
“I don’t think that any of us would want to be in office when the survivors start asking questions,” he said, flatly. Maybe he could push the council in the right direction. “I’m going to declare a state of emergency. My very strong advice is that you all do the same. So far, the war has been far from our world. That may be about to change.”
He stood up. “We may not meet again,” he added, allowing himself a little melodrama. “But even if we lose this war, we gave them a lesson they won’t forget in a hurry. Maybe we will upset the Galactic apple cart so badly that the Hegemony won’t be able to keep up.”
Chapter Forty-Two
“Status report?”
“Voyager transited back into quantum space,” Sooraya said. “So far, the Funks have not arrived in the solar system. Admiral Sun has uploaded a tactical sit-rep for you.”
Tobias nodded. Lurking in quantum space was an old tactic, well known to the Galactics, but assuming the Funks didn't know that he’d abandoned Hammerfall, they wouldn't be expecting it. By keeping his fleet hidden, it was just possible that he could induce the Funks to commit themselves to attacking Earth before realising that they were about to put themselves into a meatgrinder. If the Funks had realised just how many ships were waiting for them, they might have thought better of their plans.
But perhaps it wouldn't make any difference, he realised as he scrolled through the report. The strike on Hegemony Prime had succeeded beyond his wildest expectations, leaving the Funks tumbling down into civil war. None of their intelligence sources had even seen their Empress for the last three days. She might be dead, or in hiding, or attempting to rally her supporters for a counterattack… if she had any supporters left. Even the worst human dictators had been able to call upon considerable support when their positions were threatened, but the Funks seemed to do it differently. Some of their traditions even included the concept of honourable betrayal, abandoning a leader whose position had become untenable before civil war could devastate the entire system.
The Hegemony was going down; according to one report, units of the Hegemony Navy had even started firing at each other. They’d be too busy for the foreseeable future to worry about humanity, assuming that humanity survived the coming battle. But in its death agonies the Hegemony might just take Earth down with it. Perhaps that was why they’d launched a mighty fleet at Earth. Maybe they’d learned the concept of total war from the human race.
“Hold our position here,” Tobias ordered. He’d reorganised his squadrons as best as he could, although the losses from recent fighting had forced him to combine units that had never served together before the flight to Earth. They’d been training hard ever since, yet there were limits to how well simulations could teach lessons. But there was no time for proper exercises. “Admiral Sun will update us when the enemy fleet arrives.”
If it does arrive, he added, in the privacy of his own thoughts. Knowing the Funks, it was quite possible that the enemy commander, realising that she was in command of the largest surviving segment of the Hegemony Navy, might make her own bid to become Empress. Or he might have been completely wrong and the Funks merely intended to hit Garston or even Terra Nova...although three entire squadrons of superdreadnoughts were massive overkill for any target, but Earth.
He shrugged. Coordinating operations between normal space and quantum space wasn't easy, but it was easier than trying to coordinate across interstellar distances. One lesson humanity had learned quickly – and so had the Funks – was that the simpler the plan, the better. He’d just have to hope that he wasn't being too clever for his own good. But the opportunity to deliver a final blow to the Hegemony was too good to allow to slip by without at least trying to take advantage of it.
“Back to training,” he said. There was nothing he could do now, but wait. “But tell the Alpha crews that I want them to get some rest. God knows how long it will be before the shit hits the fan.”
* * *
Admiral Sun knew himself to be more of an administrator than a fighter. His career in the People’s Liberation Army Navy had been devoted to building up a force that could challenge American dominance of the seas near China, a task that had forced him to concentrate on fighting paper wars with Communist Party planners rather than actually training and preparing for the actual fighting. He’d been rather amused to discover that his American counterparts envied his budget and access to the resources of China, apparently because they believed that a Communist state could simply order whatever resources it needed devoted to the military. Anyone who believed that had clearly never tried to operate within a Communist economy.
The Federation Navy had faced hundreds of very real limitations in building up a fleet that could challenge the Hegemony. Earth had had a pathetic space program before Mentor had arrived and gave the human race the technology it needed to burst out into the solar system. There was a staggering shortage of trained manpower, even after fifteen years of development, and dozens of production bottlenecks. And the Federation Navy hadn’t had first call on all of humanity’s resources. Earth’s growing space-based industry had needed manpower and spacecraft too.
He studied the fleet taking shape in orbit and scowled. It looked formidable, all right, but he knew its limitations. Five Admiral-class cruisers, the most advanced ships in the galaxy, had taken point, but they were tied to their comrades. A hundred military starships, all bought or begged from the Galactics, and fifty-seven modified freighters. He knew, better than anyone else on Earth, precisely what would happen if the older ships came to grips with Hegemony superdreadnoughts: they’d be slaughtered.
Fifty years, he thought, sourly. Americans seemed to place more faith in planners than the Chinese, an irony that would have amused him under other circumstances, but he had no doubt about those figures. Fifty years of uninterrupted development would have made Earth invincible, at least until the Galactics duplicated Earth’s advances and installed them in their fleets. The Hegemony wouldn't have been able to even stay in the running. Perhaps that explained why they had brought so much pressure to bear on Earth. They’d understood, dimly, that human advancement was a deadly threat and acted to squash it before it was too late. But if they had really understood...
…They might have attacked Earth without warning.
He turned and looked at the viewscreen, which showed Earth rotating slowly under his fleet. The planet was panicking, law and order steadily breaking down; a mocking reminder of the pre-Contact days when most of human civilization had been reasonably safe and secure. Few civilians really comprehended the crushing power of the Galactics, but those who could read fleet lists would probably be able to work out that humanity was badly outnumbered. The results of the coming confrontation might be disastrous. Hundreds of thousands were fleeing for shelter; millions were scrambling to find a safe place to hide. A handful of politicians who had opposed building shelters for the population had been threatened with lynching as people sought someone to blame. The fact that the politicians had been right – antimatter weapons could crack the entire planet in half – would be meaningless to them. It was far better to spend that money on the Federation Navy.
“Admiral,” Commander Gustav Wallenberg said, “I have the latest update from the OWPs.”
Sun nodded, careful to keep his face immobile. “I presume that they have finished their work?”
“The engineers report that three of the five platforms are now operat
ional,” Wallenberg said, “but I’m afraid that the other two need their components switched out before they can be activated. The dealers who sold them to us didn't take very good care of them.”
“Which explains why they were on the market in the first place,” Sun said. Galactic technology was tough, robust in a way that few human products could match, but even it wore down. And most military suppliers among the Galactics were not entirely trustworthy. ONI had speculated that the more powerful Galactics rigged the market to ensure that the weaker powers didn't get any stronger. “Make a note of the dealer. Maybe we can hunt him up for damages later.”
Back in China, the PLAN had had real problems with quality control. Sun had worried – endlessly – over state-sponsored factories that produced shoddy goods, even with everything they’d learned from the West. Even when they’d tracked down the source of the useless technology, they’d often found it difficult to punish the people responsible. Their political connections were always first-rate. But supersonic missiles intended to be fired at American aircraft carriers were more complex than AK-47s. At least the Federation Navy had had the clout to challenge defective factories. Maybe the real reason why he’d been denied the post of CNO was that he’d put too many noses out of joint while serving under Admiral Sampson.
“Yes, sir,” his aide said. “I’m afraid that Alan Beresford has been in contact again, demanding to speak with you personally.”
Sun wanted to order his aide to tell the British MP that he was busy, perhaps on a week-long EVA inspection trip, but he knew better. The politicians always wanted their hands held, even the ones who had the experience or insight to realise that it was a waste of time. Beresford had been a thorn in his flesh since Clarke had been occupied by the Hegemony, largely because he had vast investments on the planet which stood to make him very rich – assuming that the human race survived the war. He’d been demanding that the Federation Navy liberate Clarke yesterday, if possible. Sun, who agreed with his superior that Clarke was probably a feint to draw the Federation Navy away from Earth, had declined.
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