The Lost Stars: Tarnished Knight

by Jack Campbell

  What about the smaller warships? The Alliance, it seemed, named its heavy cruisers for armor or fortifications or simply hard substances, like Diamond. The light cruisers were named for both offensive and defensive things, and the destroyers, larger than Syndicate HuKs but with the same kinds of missions, were named after weapons.

  She needed that kind of category system but couldn’t use the Alliance system. No one would like that. What else was there? As she had with the rank system, Iceni called up historical files, searching for ships once associated with the Syndicate Worlds or parts of it that had names. She had to go back a long way, to the period when the star systems in this region were first being colonized, some by very long voyages from Old Earth itself to stake a human claim to as much space as possible at a time when there were worries about quickly encountering another intelligent species.

  There were some names in those old historical files. A lot were human names, individuals whose meaning and onetime importance had been long since lost. Perhaps some of those names had belonged to politicians, but if so, their quest for immortality through that means had fallen far short of eternity.

  But there were other names. Manticore, Basilisk, Gryphon. She knew some of those. Mythical creatures. Powerful mythical creatures. And the names were also linked to long ago, to the ships used by the ancestors that the crew members had covertly continued to worship despite official disapproval. Good. Very good. That took care of the heavy cruisers.

  Phoenix. Iceni kept her eyes focused on that name, thinking about that creature. She had been increasingly bothered by the scorched-earth tactics of the snakes and even non-ISS types like the late CEO Kolani when they were cornered. The thought had already occurred to her that such people wanted to leave behind nothing that Iceni could use, nothing but ashes that would provide no benefit for the citizens of rebelling star systems.

  But in mythology, the phoenix rose from ashes. A rebirth. That particular symbol was not for any one ship. No. She would hold that one ready, to symbolize what might become far more than one star system linked by association, ready to work together against their former masters and any other threat. They would build something new from the ashes of the Syndicate Worlds.

  But that was a matter for another day. For now, what about names for the light cruisers? Iceni looked at her display in hope of inspiration. On the display, the detached flotilla still hung moving slowly against the image of this part of the star system. The projected vector for the flotilla curved toward the second planet, like the path of a bird of prey swooping down upon its victim.

  A bird of prey? Hawk, Eagle, Raven? Was a Raven a bird of prey? Never mind. She liked the imagery.

  That left the HuKs. What to signify with them? Something she wanted to encourage. But what? The sort of thing she had seen with Sub-Executive Kontos, standing sentry on the bridge of the battleship until relieved.

  Standing sentry.

  Sentry.

  Sentinel. Defender. Guardian. Scout. Warrior. There were a lot of options there. And crew members who had been happy to be changed from being line workers to being called specialists would surely like the idea of their ships having similarly less generic titles.

  Decision made. No bureaucracy to be consulted.

  Iceni looked to Marphissa. “So, Kommodor, when do you want to be formally appointed the commanding officer of the battleship Midway?”

  Marphissa’s face lit. “She will get a name?”

  “Yes.” She. I guess that I’d better get used to hearing that.

  “Madam President, I am honored beyond measure that—”

  “Kommodor!” the operations specialist said. “Activity near the second planet!”

  Iceni swiveled her gaze back to her display. An hour and a half ago, the snake-controlled warships had done something. But what?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “ACCELERATING and vectoring away from the planet,” Marphissa commented after watching for a few minutes.

  “What about shuttle activity to them?” Iceni asked. “There wasn’t any alert on that before they started moving.”

  “There have been a lot of shuttle runs to those units ever since they achieved orbit. The half hour before they started moving had plenty, but not an unusual amount compared to the hours before that.”

  All they could do was sit and watch until the one light cruiser and two HuKs still controlled by the snakes settled out on a clear vector. The bent cone indicating possible courses kept narrowing until it formed a single curving line heading past the star and outward. “The jump point for Kukai,” the maneuvering specialist announced.

  “That was their only other choice unless they wanted to go to Midway,” Marphissa noted, “but they are leaving the star system.”

  “Make sure,” Iceni said, “that our detached flotilla—”

  She stopped speaking as an alert sounded, and new symbols flashed on the display.

  “They’ve launched bombardment projectiles,” the combat specialist said in a hushed voice.

  Damn. How many projectiles did those three units have on board? Enough to devastate the second planet?

  “They’re headed . . . outward,” the combat specialist reported, his voice reflecting bafflement.

  “What?” Iceni leaned closer to her display as if that might provide more detail. “They can’t hit the battleship from where they’re firing. Not with unguided projectiles that would have to whip around the gas giant in a partial orbit before impact.”

  “That is correct, Madam President, but the projectiles are heading toward the gas giant.”

  Marphissa spread her hands in bafflement, eyes fixed on her own display. “How long until we can figure out what they’re aiming at?”

  “Maybe half an hour, Kommodor.” The combat specialist hesitated. “They must know that trying to hit any mobile unit with kinetic rounds fired from that distance is hopeless.”

  “And yet they launched them in this direction.”

  “Yes, Kommodor, but there is one thing near here, one thing orbiting the gas giant, which is not a mobile unit.”

  An angry sound came from Marphissa. “The mobile forces facility. But why don’t they want to preserve that intact in the expectation that they’ll control it again when the Syndicate Worlds sends new forces here?”

  “Excuse me, Kommodor, but the facility isn’t intact. It was badly damaged during the fighting to control it. We don’t know how badly, but we know the main dock has been destroyed. That explosion must have torn apart most of the shipyard capabilities on the facility.”

  Marphissa turned to Iceni. “The facility is no longer very useful, and the snakes know that the workers’ committee took it over. They’re sending the strongest possible message to this star system by smashing that facility. What do we do?”

  “Why do we have to do anything?” Iceni asked. “The citizens on the mobile forces facility will see the projectiles coming and they’ll evacuate.”

  “Yes, Madam President. The only mobile unit at the facility was destroyed in the internal fighting, and we destroyed the freighter on its way here with snake reinforcements. They’ll have to evacuate in any surviving tugs and escape pods, which are certain to be overloaded.”

  Oh. Iceni judged the distances involved to reaching safety. “That will be pushing the capabilities of the pods, and probably the tugs.”

  “We could detach a few of our—”

  “No.” She might not want the workers’ committee and their fellow radicalized workers to suffocate in the cold dark, but that didn’t mean she wanted them spreading poison to her crews. “What about that merchant?” She pointed to her display, centering it on one of the merchant ships that had arrived since the fighting or left the second planet, crossing the star system on their way to one or the other of the two jump points that were all Kane had. Prudence might have dictated postponing any voyages, but in the Syndicate Worlds caution alone wasn’t accepted as an excuse for failure to carry out ordered tasks. Schedules
must be met. As soon as the combat between the flotillas ended, merchant ships had gotten under way. One of those merchant ships was only ten light-minutes from the gas giant though already past the planet’s orbit and heading outward.

  “Should I contact them?” Marphissa asked.

  “No, I’ll do it.” Composing herself, Iceni tapped her controls. “Merchant ship SWCC-10735, this is President Iceni. The citizens on the mobile forces facility orbiting the fourth planet will soon be forced to evacuate. You are to alter course toward that facility, rendezvous with the tugs and escape pods from that facility, and take the citizens in them safely to the second planet before proceeding on your business. Acknowledge receipt of this message and understanding of your orders. For the people, Iceni, out.” Short and to the point. There should be no room for misunderstanding.

  But a reply would take about twenty minutes. Ten minutes to get there and ten to get back.

  The battleship and two heavy cruisers had finally finished swinging completely about and were slowing again under the thrust of the cruisers’ propulsion units when the reply came.

  “This is Senior Ship’s Controller Hafely.” Hafely had the fixed expression characteristic of those executives who couldn’t conceive of doing anything contrary to directions. In Iceni’s experience, most executives like that couldn’t do anything without clear and detailed directions, either. “My ship is owned and operated by the Yegans Syndicate. I am under orders from my Syndicate not to deviate from my assigned transport movements except as required by authorities of the Syndicate Worlds or if threatened by Alliance raiders. I am continuing on my movements as scheduled by my Syndicate.”

  “Not even a courteous sign-off at the end,” Iceni commented.

  “Madam President,” Marphissa said, looking and sounding angry, “should I take appropriate action?”

  “Oh, no, Kommodor. I want to respond to this individual personally. He needs to be motivated.” Another moment to prepare, then Iceni hit the transmit command once more and began speaking in a calm voice. “Senior Ship’s Controller Hafely, this is President Iceni of the independent Midway Star System. You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I care about your orders from the Yegans Syndicate. You also seem to think that you are not required to obey my orders. I will say this once, Senior Ship’s Controller Hafely. Listen carefully.”

  Her voice had hardened and deepened, lowering slightly in volume. “I am in command of three heavy cruisers, six light cruisers, and eight Hunter-Killers. Any one of those units is capable of totally destroying your ship. If I do not as soon as possible receive an acknowledgment of your orders from me to assist the evacuees from the mobile forces facility, as well as your intent to obey those orders, and see your ship begin to carry out those orders, I will send one of my light cruisers to intercept your ship and obliterate it. But that cruiser will be under orders to attempt to ensure that you personally survive the destruction of your ship, so that you can be placed in an escape pod that will be launched on a vector that ensures it cannot be reached by anyone before its life support gives out.

  “You have one remaining chance to get this right, Senior Ship’s Controller Hafely. You should be extremely grateful that I am giving you that chance rather than immediately ordering your execution for disrespect toward me.”

  Her voice returned to calmness. “For the people, Iceni, out.”

  Feeling tired, Iceni stood up. “Let me know if we don’t receive a positive reply from Senior Ship’s Controller Hafely within half an hour, and if we don’t see his ship begin to turn around to meet the citizens who evacuate from the facility. As soon as you see the ship begin to move, contact the mobile forces facility and tell them the merchant is coming to pick them up. Am I forgetting anything?”

  “How do we ensure that the merchant actually takes them to the second planet?” Marphissa asked. “That might require detaching a warship to shadow the merchant until it gets there.”

  She didn’t want to do that. It would tie up a warship for even longer than the commitments she was already dealing with. Iceni pointed at another symbol on the display. “That’s the light cruiser that wanted to go to, where was it, Cadez? Why haven’t they left?”

  The comm specialist answered. “I’ve talked to them, Madam President. They have some people on the second planet that they wanted to pick up before they left, so they’ve been waiting around to see if the snakes would leave.”

  “Good. Contact that light cruiser, Kommodor Marphissa. Tell them we chased away the snakes from the second planet, and tell them what I’ve ordered the merchant to do.” Iceni paused. Could she just order the light cruiser to do something? They might refuse, and she had no means of catching them to enforce an order. Giving an order you couldn’t enforce was a bad idea. It could make you look very weak, indeed. “Ask them if they will intercept that merchant and escort it to the second planet to ensure that the citizens from the mobile forces facility reach the planet safely.”

  It all felt very . . . humanitarian. Hopefully, no one would interpret that as a sign of weakness in her. She needed the goodwill of whoever ended up ruling this star system and didn’t want to burn any bridges with any factions, that was all. That didn’t mean she would return the battleship, but it did mean issuing a few threats to save a few lives to earn the kind of intangible currency that could purchase important dividends in the future. “I’m going to work in my stateroom for a while.”

  As Iceni left the bridge, with every intention of lying down and trying to rest, she noticed out of the corners of her eyes that the specialists all seemed to be happy for some reason.

  * * *

  GENERAL Artur Drakon eyed the latest intelligence update sourly. Even a few months ago, intelligence updates had been much, much longer and much simpler. In those days, there had been two categories. The Alliance category contained the latest that had been learned about the enemy’s intentions and capabilities, as well as information about recent Alliance military operations and losses. The best that could be said about that category was that it usually correctly identified the star systems in which combat had taken place. Intentions were never more than a patchwork of guesses, and capabilities rarely showed any changes that mattered. And, of course, the information was time-late, as much as several months late if you were stationed somewhere like Midway far from the border with the Alliance. Even when you were stationed closer to the front, information about other areas where fighting was taking place could be weeks old at best.

  The Syndicate Worlds category was almost always shorter, and almost always even less useful. Actual losses of forces or defeats were never accurately reported and had to be teased out through the grapevine and unofficial contacts. Syndicate Worlds’ plans were always subject to deliberate disinformation and sudden, last-minute changes if one influential CEO abruptly lost that influence and their replacement had other plans. And, of course, that was all time-late as well.

  Yet everyone of rank was supposed to know what was in the updates, so reading them was mandatory, and in any event they offered important clues as to what your superiors wanted to believe themselves and wanted you to believe.

  The intelligence update before Drakon now was far smaller, but with more categories. Midway. Local Star Systems. Syndicate Worlds. Alliance. Other Star Systems. Enigma Race. Much of the information was fragmentary, and the time lags had grown far worse as travel through space once controlled by the Syndicate Worlds had grown more difficult and official networks had collapsed along with Syndicate authority. But at least the information reflected the truth as best they knew it. Or as best Colonel Malin knew it.

  Midway. Stable, almost suspiciously so, the citizens enthusiastically embracing the elections for low-level offices. The euphoria from the destruction of the snakes hadn’t faded yet, and the Syndicate Worlds hadn’t yet retaliated. Trade was weaker than it should be, but it had been trending that way for some time. In some ways, the Syndicate Worlds had been unraveling for years and dec
ades under the pressure of the war, maintaining an image of strength thanks to military power that masked the growing hollowness and dissent behind it.

  Taroa. Three factions contesting for control. None strong enough to win. Malin had emphasized that. He wanted Drakon to think about it.

  Kane. Critically important, but they still knew nothing. Until some ship arrived bearing news from Iceni, all they could do was wonder what she had found there and whether she had succeeded in her mission.

  Syndicate Worlds. Very little new. A recently arriving merchant ship had carried a message from CEO Jason Boyens for Iceni, and Malin had already intercepted that long enough to copy the contents. Unfortunately, Boyens didn’t tell them much they didn’t already know. The new government was weak, everyone was struggling for position and influence, and star systems continued to break away from Syndicate Worlds authority. The message had been sent well before news would have reached Prime of the rebellion at Midway, so it offered no clues to reactions by the government.

  Enigma race. Nothing to report. If Black Jack’s fleet had stirred them up again, the aliens must still be busy confronting the Alliance.

  Other star systems. This one reported in chaos, that one declaring independence under a strong CEO or a group of them, yet another joining a loose conglomeration of other local star systems for protection that the central government could no longer provide. This information was the oldest and most patchy, and so least reliable.

  Alliance. Personal briefing required.

  “Colonel Malin, I’d like to speak with you.” Drakon wanted until Malin arrived and closed the door behind him. “What’s this item on the Alliance?”

  Malin checked the security readouts before replying. “I managed to access some of President Iceni’s personal files, General.”

  “That must have been extremely difficult.”

  “It was challenging. I couldn’t get to everything, not by a long shot, but I did find the records of her conversations with the Alliance fleet, the ones even the snakes never located.”