The Lost Stars: Tarnished Knight

by Jack Campbell

  That’s the question, isn’t it? We talk about the need for safety and security, but how many citizens of the Syndicate Worlds have ever slept feeling safe and secure? No. We spent every day, every night, wondering when the heavy knocks would come on the door, when the door would be broken open, when one of us would be hauled off to answer for crimes whether or not we ever committed those acts. I’m the most powerful person in the Midway Star System, and I hide behind locked doors and security systems even when I have bodyguards on call. Safety and security, hell.

  Iceni sighed, leaning back again, her eyes still closed. How do I fix that and still keep myself, and others, safe? Capturing that battleship may turn out to be one of the easiest things I’ve had to deal with.

  I hope General Drakon is having an easier time. I ought to be worried about what he’s doing, but for some reason I don’t understand, I feel safer knowing that he’s watching things at Midway. Hopefully he can handle anything that comes up before I get back.

  * * *

  “A flotilla has arrived at the jump point from Lono,” Malin reported over the hoot of alarms behind him.

  Drakon was in his command center in a heartbeat. Haste was absurd when the enemy had just been sighted six light-hours fifteen light-minutes distant, but it still felt necessary. Human reflexes insisted that an enemy in sight was an imminent threat, and human bodies and brains still responded to that ancient imperative. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered as he took in the information.

  Two heavy cruisers, three light cruisers, four HuKs. And he had exactly one heavy cruiser to deal with them. It didn’t take an expert in mobile forces to know those odds were lousy. “Colonel Malin, inform the commander of C-818 that President Iceni has concealed a large explosive charge in her unit, and if C-818 doesn’t hold its ground and defend this star system, I have the codes to detonate it.”

  Malin hesitated. “A heavy cruiser isn’t so large that she won’t be able to eventually discover that there is no such charge, General.”

  “All I need is for her to have to remain here while she looks for it. We need some defensive presence.”

  Morgan had also arrived and shook her head. “For a moment I thought our President had actually done something smart.”

  “If she did,” Drakon said, “I don’t know about it. We haven’t heard anything from that flotilla yet?”

  “No, sir,” Morgan said. “They didn’t send anything the moment they arrived here.”

  “That’s odd. I would have expected an immediate demand that we surrender.”

  “They’re heading . . . for the hypernet gate,” Malin reported. “They took up that vector immediately upon leaving the jump point.”

  Drakon glared at the display. “No Syndicate flotilla would destroy that gate deliberately. They know there’s no longer a threat of the gate’s wiping out this star system when it collapses, but the Syndicate Worlds needs that gate. Why destroy the primary reason they want control of this star system back?”

  Morgan suddenly laughed. “Oh, hell. They didn’t come here to attack us. They’re supposed to just pass through.”

  “How long will that buy us?”

  “Not long at all, General. Right now, they’re picking up lots of comm traffic floating around about General Drakon and President Iceni and the independent Midway Star System, and they’re noticing there’s nothing on the ISS circuits at all. Maybe they’re even picking up comments about the snakes here being dead.” Morgan pointed toward the display. “They’re deciding what it means, and they’re deciding what to do about it. Say you’re the commander of a flotilla and have a chance to reconquer a star system that has pulled out of the Syndicate Worlds? And the only mobile forces the rebels have is a single heavy cruiser? What would you decide, General?”

  Drakon nodded heavily. “We’ll probably get their demand for submission to them within half an hour. I am open to suggestions.”

  “Talk,” Malin said. “Keep them at arm’s length as long as possible. President Iceni could return at any moment.”

  “Tell them you’ll collapse the gate if they attack,” Morgan suggested.

  That sounded potentially useful.

  “What would you do if I made that threat, Colonel Morgan?” Malin asked.

  She paused, then shrugged. “I’d call your bluff.”

  “Because it would have to be a bluff, a threat we dare not carry out. If the gate collapses, the value of the infrastructure in this star system shrinks to almost nothing. Control of the star system could be achieved simply by wiping out everyone and everything here by bombardment. They would no longer care what we might do in retaliation for that bombardment.”

  Morgan scowled but nodded. “That’s right.”

  “Then—” Drakon began, to halt when a comm alert sounded. “Twenty-five minutes for them to evaluate the situation and issue their demands. Let’s see what they say.”

  He didn’t recognize the woman sending the message. She looked older, and his first impression was of caution. But first impressions could create later mistakes. Drakon concentrated on what she said and how she said it.

  “This is CEO Gathos for the rebels in the Midway Star System. You are to surrender immediately, acknowledging the authority of the Syndicate Worlds, and deliver to me your primary leaders, former CEOs Drakon and Iceni, and their senior staff. If you do not transmit your capitulation within half an hour of your receipt of this message, I will initiate bombardment of noncritical infrastructure. For the people, Gathos, out.”

  “Do you know her?” Morgan asked.

  “No,” Drakon said. There were a lot of CEOs in the Syndicate Worlds. Iceni might know her, but if Iceni were here to tell him about Gathos, then Iceni would also be here with more mobile forces. “Assessment?”

  “She means it,” Morgan replied.

  “Agreed,” Malin said.

  “Half an hour, or she starts throwing rocks. That rules out talking to buy time.” He looked at the display again, where the path of the Syndicate flotilla had altered, curving down toward the star and toward this planet. Half an hour to reply. Gathos and her flotilla wouldn’t hear that answer for six hours, but he still had to send it within the deadline.

  “Pretend to surrender,” Morgan said. “The ship that delivers you to them will have commandos aboard, and we’ll take one of their heavy cruisers. That’ll give us two heavy cruisers to their one, or at worst, they’ll have one left, and we’ll still have one.”

  To call that plan desperate was to understate things. “Malin?”

  He shook his head. “Colonel Morgan’s plan is a very weak reed on which to base our survival, but I can’t see any other option that offers better odds. The only other thing I could suggest is prayer.”

  “Prayer?” Despite his tension, Drakon smiled crookedly. “What would I pray to, Colonel Malin? And what would have any cause to listen to my prayers?”

  “Only you could know the answers to those questions, General.”

  “Then if you are so inclined, feel free to pray to whatever you can think of that we get out of this in one piece. But also get moving on Morgan’s plan.” He knew it had no chance at all. The moment he surrendered, the locals would start creating trouble, objecting to the return of Syndicate authority and tying down his troops, and the commander of C-818 would have plenty of time to confirm that there were no hidden explosives and either head for distant star systems at high speed or surrender her heavy cruiser to Gathos.

  But a very small chance was better than none at all. Drakon’s hand hovered over the reply control.

  “General?” Morgan sounded baffled. “They’ve turned.”

  “What?” He looked back at the display, seeing that six hours ago, CEO Gathos’s flotilla had bent its course again, turning away from the star and aiming straight for the hypernet gate. “What the hell is she doing?”

  “Maybe she lost her nerve.”

  “Why? Because she looked up my service record? Somehow, I doubt that.”

&
nbsp; They kept watching, but the Syndicate flotilla stayed with the vector it had steadied out on. Drakon’s eyes went to the time. The half-hour time limit was about to expire. “Maybe Gathos is trying to trick us into not surrendering so she has an excuse for pounding this star system into rubble.”

  Morgan had been watching the movement of the flotilla with narrowed eyes, and now shook her head. “No. She’s running. I’d stake my life on it.”

  “You are.”

  “Oh, yeah. I am.” Morgan grinned fiercely. “But maybe I can get to Gathos before I die.”

  A sudden laugh from Malin sounded at the same time as another alert from the display. He pointed. “Now we know why CEO Gathos changed her mind about trying to reconquer this star system.”

  At the jump point from Kane, another flotilla had appeared. Heavy cruisers, light cruisers, and Hunter-Killers arrayed around the unmistakable bulk of a battleship. “President Iceni’s units arrived closer to the jump point from Lono than we are, so the light from their arrival reached CEO Gathos’s flotilla before it reached us. She would have seen immediately that Gathos’s flotilla was here, and issued a threat that would have reached Gathos at almost the same moment as Gathos saw our reinforcements.”

  Drakon laughed, too. From the planet, the battleship didn’t show any signs of being barely operational. Its huge, threatening, ugly, beautiful hull seemed to gleam wickedly among the much smaller warships surrounding it. “President Iceni, this is General Drakon. I am really happy to see you. Welcome back. For the people, Drakon, out.”

  “She cut it fine enough,” Morgan grumbled.

  Turning to Malin, Drakon gave him a questioning look. “Did you get a prayer off, Colonel Malin?” Malin nodded. “Whatever you asked for, something seems to have listened.”

  Malin showed the ghost of a smile. “I asked that you receive what you deserved, General.”

  Drakon paused in surprise, then laughed again. “I guess nothing listened to you after all. If I’d gotten what I deserved, I’d have died storming Gathos’s flagship. You two can stop worrying about setting up that suicide mission and get back to working on preparations for the Taroa operation.”

  * * *

  PRESIDENT Iceni watched him warily from across the table. She looked tired, having taken a heavy cruiser at high speed back to the planet while the rest of her flotilla stayed with the battleship, but her eyes also held a spark of elation. “Neutral ground. Totally secure. No assistants or aides. What is it that you want to talk about? I’ve already heard that you were unhappy about an execution that I ordered.”

  Drakon nodded. “Yes. The execution is a minor issue, but I don’t want it to be forgotten. I didn’t like being surprised to hear that someone had been shot on your orders.”

  “CEO’s prerogative,” Iceni replied.

  “You’re not the only one running things here. I want to have a say in something like that. I want to know what someone has done, and I want a chance to evaluate the circumstances.”

  Iceni tilted her head slightly as she watched him, tapping one fingernail against the table. “You think that I silenced someone?”

  “It’s possible. You know what they say. Dead lawyers tell no tales.”

  “No lawyers were involved in this matter.” She paused, eyes hooded in thought. “But you think it might have been something like that.”

  “How do I know otherwise?”

  “A reasonable question.” Iceni smiled at him, the expression holding no real feeling. “I will agree to inform you in advance of any more executions, as long as that agreement binds both of us. You also don’t order any executions without telling me in advance of their being carried out.”

  He had expected an offer like that. He had also expected her to offer something that seemed like more than it was. Iceni’s proposal left a huge loophole because executions weren’t the same as assassinations or neutralizations. Neither of them would be agreeing not to eliminate anyone by purely extralegal means. But that was all right. He was on record with her about his concerns, and she knew that he would be watching for any signs that she was silencing people who knew the wrong things. “Fine.”

  Iceni’s false smile had vanished. “I’m going to be candid with you, General. I’ve been considering a number of issues about how punishment and other legal matters are dealt with.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ensuring that trials really do try to determine guilt and innocence. Ensuring that only those truly guilty are punished.”

  “Are you joking?” Drakon eyed her for any signs of twisted humor, or perhaps insanity.

  “No. I’m very serious. Needless to say, I will not do anything that imperils you and me, or that would create instability among the citizens.”

  “Fine,” Drakon repeated. “I don’t have any objections to looking at that kind of thing, as long as we’re in agreement on whatever’s done, and as long as you and I are looked after in any changes. All right. That was a minor issue. Let’s talk about why I wanted this meeting. Taroa.”

  “Taroa? Has one of the factions there prevailed?”

  “No. Not yet.” Drakon called up a large display, pointing to a representation of the Taroa Star System. “But we’ve run everything we know or can reasonably well guess through simulations, and every simulation says the Syndicate loyalists will win. The only variation is how long it will take.”

  Iceni frowned as she eyed the display. “Simulations are not reality. They can be extremely flawed.”

  “I agree. But I looked at the data myself, and my gut tells me they’re right this time. The loyalists have too many resources, including control of the main orbital docks.”

  Iceni tapped some controls, zooming in on the primary inhabited world at Taroa. “What happened to the light cruiser that was hanging around there?”

  “According to the last we heard, it left.”

  “Going back to Prime to report to the central government?”

  “No. Going home.” Drakon gestured vaguely. “Lindanen Star System.”

  “That’s not close, but it’s not all the way across Syndicate space, either.” Her eyes went to the display again. “Have you thought about what it’s like right now, General? All those star systems where Syndicate rule has ended or is shaky, all the mobile forces deciding whether to stay or go home. The ground forces, too, I suppose. They have the means to force someone to send them where they want to go. Everywhere out there, the broken remnants of the Syndicate Worlds’ military are making their way to wherever they hope to find safety and survival.”

  “Or putting down roots where they are. It’s strange to think about,” Drakon agreed. “And worrisome. Those broken pieces of the Syndicate military could end up in the hands of someone who wants to use them to build a new empire.”

  “Someone like us?” she asked.

  “Could be. But I gather that’s not what you want to do.”

  “We haven’t got the strength to build an empire,” Iceni said. “Just defending this star system is going to be a full-time job.”

  “Even with the battleship?” Drakon asked, waiting to see if she would tell the truth about the status of that unit.

  Another pause as she watched him. “You’ve probably already heard about the state of the battleship. It’s potentially a huge asset for us. But most of its systems are still not operational, and it has far too few crew members to operate those systems even if they were working.”

  She had told the truth. That was heartening even if it was driven by the recognition that Drakon’s own sources would have learned the truth sooner or later. “How long until the systems are all up and running?”

  “With what we have at Midway to work at it? Five to six months. And getting enough crew will take at least that long. Midway isn’t the most heavily populated of star systems.” Iceni turned her head slightly to smile at him in sudden understanding. “Taroa.”

  “Yeah. A place with better ship outfitting yards than we have, stuff we can bri
ng here, and a lot more trained workers who could be enticed to join the crew. You and I both know that we can’t afford to wait five or six months for that battleship to be ready to fight. We have to get it ready faster, and the means to do that are at Taroa.”

  “Do you want an empire, General Drakon?”

  “No.” Drakon pointed to the representation of Taroa. “There are three factions fighting for control of Taroa. The Syndicate loyalists including the snakes, some group that sounds like those worker committees you ran into at Kane, and some bunch calling themselves the Free Democratic Star System of Taroa. None are that strong because Taroa doesn’t have a hypernet gate. Maybe a third of the Syndicate soldiers went with the Free Taroans, but the rest, and all of the snakes, are in the loyalist camp. Local soldiers mostly went with the Free Taroans though some joined the workers. Our latest information, which is about two weeks old now, confirms that the worker faction is weakening. We got an unconfirmed report that the loyalists put out feelers to the rebel Free Taroans to unify against the workers, but the rebels were smart enough to know they’d be next once the workers were crushed. That just delays the outcome, though. Even if the Syndicate loyalists don’t get reinforcements or other support, and they’re the only faction with any right to expect that, they’ll still win as the workers and the Free Taroans run low on weapons and ammo.”

  “Leaving one of the nearest star systems controlled by the Syndicate government,” Iceni said. “That would not be to our advantage.”

  “No,” Drakon agreed. “And the workers are unlikely to be much better from our point of view though they’ve got practically no chance of winning. That leaves the Free Taroans.”

  “Yes. But it sounds like they want elections for every office. Living with that next door might be very difficult. Working with that might be very difficult.”

  “Maybe. It might also give you and me a test population, a place to see what happens when the citizens rule themselves. I think what we need to focus on is that the Free Taroans are better than the alternatives.”