The three dreadnoughts and three cruisers had grappled with the eighteen transports, assuming those transports were full of civilians. This had been the heart and the danger of Straker’s plan—the enemy had to welcome the Breakers aboard, for no warship captain would ever voluntarily let his ship be boarded by superior enemy forces. Had even one discovered the ruse early, that ship might’ve warned the others. They could have then released their grapples and destroyed the transports.
For that reason also, the transports had to trick the enemy into disabling their drives. A transport with functioning engines might have been expected to follow maneuver orders. By forcing the warships to shoot out the engines of the “civilian” transports, Straker had induced them to grapple, expecting to capture civilians and carry the hulks, strapped on, back through sidespace to their destinations.
That also meant every assault had to kick off at one moment, to enable surprise and minimize warning. From what Straker could tell, it had worked. No warships had ungrappled and destroyed transports.
That had been his biggest fear—a thousand troops per transport, slaughtered because of bad timing.
He saw six distinct ships on his display—the capital ships, the dreadnoughts and cruisers. Where were the destroyers? He asked the SAI, which highlighted six other areas of space. “The destroyers have been eliminated as functioning combat units.”
“What happened?”
The SAI chewed on that highly generalized, vague question. “Judging from ship sensor records and residual radiation signatures, it appears antimatter weapons were detonated inside their hulls.”
“Optimize and employ active sensors, concentrating on the areas near the destroyed ships. Highlight any anomalous readings.”
Within seconds, sixteen distinct anomalies appeared in Straker’s HUD. “These anomalies appear to be low-observable ships of frigate class.”
“Designate and match those as Ruxin skimmers. Mark as friendlies.”
“Matched in database. Updated answer to query: the six destroyers were probably rendered nonfunctional by underspace float mines.”
Straker grinned. “And who said SAIs were stupid?”
“Query not understood.”
“Ignore query. Tell me, can you FTL-datalink with the controlling AI of the Independence?”
“I can.”
“Do it.”
“Datalinking.”
Straker’s HUD clarified and expanded, filling in detail.
“Hello, General Straker.”
“Hi, Indy. What’s our situation?”
“Remarkably good, General. Six capital ships captured. Regrettably, six destroyers were rendered unsalvageable by Ruxin float mines. However, that was preferable to allowing them to open fire. Our grappled transports were sitting ducks.”
“No need for regrets. Annex Zulu worked as well as we could hope.”
“Indeed. I have informed the civilians of our success, and have passed a list of known casualties to Admiral Engels. Ships are on route to rendezvous in flatspace, pending further movement orders. My small craft and repair bots are assisting with damage control operations. In short, the situation is well in hand.”
“Well in hand.” Straker chuckled as he glanced at the stump of his right arm. He passed his blaster to Steiner and retracted his helmet, and then took a sniff of ship air. The smell of ozone and burned plastics lingered. He expected to feel the usual fatigue of post-combat letdown, but in fact he seemed unaffected, bright, powerful, like he’d just woken up from a good night’s sleep. He was hungry, though. Ravenous, in fact. “This biotech is good stuff. Tell Mara thanks—and that I’ll need a reservation in the regeneration tanks. I’m missing an arm.”
“That may not be necessary,” Indy said. “The parasite should regenerate your missing limb within approximately twelve days. I suggest you report to the infirmary for a protective fitting, and nutritional supplements will be issued.”
“Really? All right, I’ll do that first chance I get. Carry on.”
“Indy out.”
Straker’s stomach rumbled while all around him, Breakers bustled and murmured orders on their comlinks. The bridge holotank showed his fleet assembling around the Independence. He looked around for something to do, but frankly, his people were perfectly competent. He’d had five years to take the best veterans from the Republic and train them the way he wanted them. The only thing they’d lacked was recent action—and now they had that under their belts.
“Steiner, rustle me up a couple field rations, will you? I’m starving.”
“Roger wilco, sir. Sir, you really should report to the infirmary.”
“I’ll be fine until I can go aboard the flagship. I’d rather let Mara take a look at this.” He waved his stump.
“At least sit down, sir. You might...”
“Collapse at any minute?” Straker barked a rueful laugh. “Okay, Sergeant. Looks safe enough.” He backed up to an empty bulkhead and sent the command for the suit to crack open. This terminated his brainlink, and suddenly, he did feel tired—and even hungrier. The brainlink itself had masked the symptoms. He should’ve remembered that.
His head swam. The suit’s medical program left a smart tourniquet clamped on his stump. He was fortunate someone had programmed it for that eventuality—probably Murdock. It still seemed weird to look at. His vision tunneled slightly. Did he have a concussion? Steiner was right. He ought to sit down. Let other people run the show.
He took a seat in the flag officer’s chair, set on a small raised platform with three extra consoles for an admiral’s battle staff. This was a normal setup for a dreadnought, though usually the section remained unused and turned off.
The seat straps were hanging carelessly, as if they’d been unbuckled and left there by its previous occupant.
Steiner handed him a self-heating emergency ration he’d scrounged up from somewhere, along with a flask of standard battle-ade, a rehydrating drink full of nutrients. As he ate, switches seemed to flip in Straker’s numbed mind. They lined up slowly, but eventually something became clear.
The flag chair had been in use recently.
A task force like this would have a commodore or admiral in charge.
He or she would command from one of the three dreadnoughts.
Straker had captured a dreadnought.
Odds were one in three that he’d captured the flagship.
Which one was the flagship?
He cleared his throat. “Captain Gustav.”
“Sir?”
“Was this the enemy flagship?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So… where the hell is Admiral Niedern?”
Chapter 6
General Straker, aboard the captured dreadnought Trollheim
In response to Straker’s inquiry about the location of this captured flagship’s admiral, Captain Gustav glanced around as if he’d misplaced something. “I’ll find out, sir.” He issued orders to thoroughly search all ship spaces for anyone hiding out—to open every locker, every maintenance hatch and cupboard.
While the orders were carried out, Straker finished the emergency ration and devoured another. His head cleared, and by the time four Breakers arrived escorting a short, sallow man with Party tabs on his striped admiral’s epaulets, he felt like his old self again.
“My, my, what have we here?” Straker said. “Admiral Niedern?”
Niedern seemed to collapse in upon himself, and wouldn’t meet Straker’s eyes. “Straker,” he snarled through gritted teeth.
“I knew you’d managed to dodge a court-martial conviction, but I hadn’t paid much attention to you from then on. I see you’ve risen high in the Victory Party.”
Niedern still said nothing. A shrewd politician first, he clearly knew that he was all out of cards to play, and he was also out of chips at the Breakers Casino.
“I should have you tried and executed,” Straker continued.
That got a rise out of him. “On what charge?”
>
“Attempted murder of civilians, for one.”
“I never intended to harm civilians.”
“Yet you thought they were aboard these transports.”
“I was trying to take them into protective custody.”
“Reckless endangerment and kidnapping, then. I don’t suppose you thought to wipe your personal and command logs? They’ll make for interesting reading.”
Niedern paled, but blustered on. “No Republic court will convict me, and I won’t recognize any other.”
“Cold comfort when you’re dead.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Straker reached up to stroke his chin, but he realized he was missing a hand. He waved the stump at Niedern. “Funny how weasels always depend on the ethics of others, but have none themselves. In this case, though, you happen to be right. I won’t execute you. In fact, I’m thinking of letting you go.”
Hope appeared in Niedern’s eyes, quickly replaced by skepticism, and then shrewdness. “You want something in return. You want to make a deal.”
“I knew you’d understand. But since I can’t trust you to do anything after I let you go, it’ll have to be something you can give me now. What might that be?” Straker wasn’t sure, himself, but figured Niedern would come up with something if it would save his skin.
Yet why let Niedern go?
Two reasons. One, Niedern was a known quantity. If he ever came after the Breakers again, better that it was him rather than some unknown, possibly more dangerous opponent.
Two, it was likely Niedern’s masters in the Victory Party would look unkindly on his failure and punish him with far worse than anything Straker would. Maybe they’d make him into a Hok.
Niedern considered. “I’ll give you everything I know on your enemies and the Party.”
“Not worth enough. We’re heading so far out they won’t be able to reach us, and we won’t bother them.”
Niedern face twisted in disbelief. “Oh, I’m supposed to believe the great Liberator is giving up?”
Straker shrugged. “Believe what you want. I gave humanity its chance at freedom and justice, and look how they repaid me. I was a fool to think people would learn from history. The Victory Party is just the same old tyrant in new clothes, with the same old promises. Give up your rights and freedoms in return for security, entertainment and comfort. In a generation or two, the system will self-destruct. In fact, from what I figure, it will self-destruct sooner without me around as a scapegoat and focal point.”
“They’ll never stop hunting you. They’re afraid of you. The name of Liberator Straker could rally another revolt.”
Straker showed his teeth, inspired to bluff and bluster a bit. “Fine. Let them waste resources and look like fools as they fail. The tighter their grasp, the more minds will slip through their fingers. And when the time is good, when the fruit is ripe, I’ll return—and this time, I’ll do it right. I’ll purge every Victory Party member and loyalist, separate the wheat from the chaff. I’ll rule directly for as long as it takes to return humanity to the path of freedom and justice.”
“That sounds like tyranny!”
“Sounds like Steel, anyway. Would you rather have him or me?”
Niedern’s face pinched further, as if he wanted to say something, but was afraid to—which was a combination of irony and stupidity. Straker would always let a man have his say.
He doubted if Steel would. “The Prefect” was supposed to be touchy, ruled by whim, having people charged with crimes for simple mistakes or expressing opposing views. Karst hadn’t been that way before he became Steel, but power corrupts...
He’d have to remember that about his own power. Keeping it in mind was a good preventative.
Of course Straker had no intention of returning to seize power, especially not as a direct ruler, but he’d realized something. Niedern wouldn’t be able to help himself. He’d repeat everything Straker said, and Steel would believe it, because it’s what Steel would do in his place. It’s what Steel no doubt wanted—to be an absolute dictator. A guy like him couldn’t conceive of anyone turning down such a position—despite the evidence of his own eyes that Straker’d already done that twice.
That paranoid belief would gnaw at Steel, would make him waste time and money chasing a ghost, and would hasten his inevitable downfall—all for the cheap price of letting Niedern go.
Now, to set the hook deeply and feed that paranoia... “Remember, what we did this time, we can do again. We have better tech than the Republic—alien tech we kept for ourselves, just like the gravity blocker. You see we blew up six destroyers without them getting off a shot, and captured six capital ships. We have the only sane AI ever built, and she’s already able to do some of the things the Crystals did. We’ll destroy or capture anyone else Steel sends against us.”
“Then what do you want from me?” Niedern said bleakly.
“I’m feeling magnanimous, Admiral, so I’ll take your deal. Tell us everything you know, and when I’m satisfied, I’ll let you go. You know I’m not a murderer, but by the Unknowable Creator, I am a killer. I want Steel to know that. I want him to know the price he’ll pay for threatening me and mine. You’ll be the one to tell him.”
“If I do, he’ll kill me.”
“You made your bed, Hayson. You lie in it. You can always run away to the frontier. Change your name. Do something else with your life. They’ll think you died here.”
Niedern licked his lips, eyes shifting from side to side. “I’m too old for that.”
“Too bad. There are technologies out there to rejuvenate you... if you can find them and pay for them. But a guy like you... no, you’ll go back and try to suck from the teat of the power structure.”
“Maybe I won’t.”
“Prove me wrong, then.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You’ll have plenty of time for that.” Straker snapped his fingers at the Breakers who’d brought Niedern. “Put him in the brig.”
The next time Straker saw Niedern, he was being frog-marched across the boarding tube into the still empty transport number 21, along with the rest of the Trollheim’s crew.
Their transport’s sidespace generators were disabled and their fusion engines were still out of commission. Two more transports were prepped for the captured prisoners of war, leaving eighteen to escape with. For those captured and released, it was going to be a long trip back to Culloden-2 on impellers alone—weeks living on rations and recycled water. That would give the Breakers plenty of time to escape.
Now that the danger was past and all communication with the wider Republic had been cut off, the Breakers fleet took a few days to make repairs, reorganize, and refuel before entering sidespace.
Zaxby and his flotilla of sixteen skimmers remained with the Breakers as well—joined them formally, in fact.
“I’ve had enough of being the Grand Marshal of Ruxin,” Zaxby said when asked about it during a visit to the Independence. The skimmers were parked inside the flagship’s egg-shaped main section during the transit, though most of the Ruxins stayed aboard their own ships, preferring a wet environment rather than wear water suits in the dry human air.
Loco had smirked in reply to Zaxby. “More likely Ruxin’s had enough of you.”
“I do admit to encountering stiff political opposition. It is surprisingly difficult to get special interest groups to see reason, and Vuxana is not always supportive. And, they call me a human-lover behind my back, despite all I’ve done for Ruxin. Ingrates.”
“I didn’t realize you had a back to talk behind.”
“A figure of speech—but further evidence that I’m tainted, I suppose.”
Loco waggled his eyebrows. “And a human-lover, you said. More tentacle porn?”
“No comment. Have you never experimented with an alien species?”
“Ew.”
“You’re not nearly as libertine as you profess, Johnny Paloco.”
“You figured me out. It
’s an image thing—like yours. Only you can’t seem to keep yours intact.”
“It’s less about image than politics, which is a female realm. Males and neuters intrude at their peril. I found myself spending more and more time supervising and instructing my children. They are also vexing.”
“Okay, so... what you’re really saying is, you’re sick of the old ball and chain and the rugrats and you’re running off to join the circus again.”
“My recall of human metaphors may be rusty, yet I am certain you mangled those thoroughly, Johnny Paloco. Still, I believe you’ve put your subtentacle on it. After five years, I need a change. A return to the freedom of adventure and the great unknown!”
Loco snapped his fingers. “Vuxana threw you out, didn’t she?”
“Not as such, but she did suggest I find fulfillment elsewhere in order not to intrude on her interest in her new lover. Lovers, truth to be told.”
“Yeah, she threw you out all right.” Loco awkwardly patted what passed for Zaxby’s shoulder. “Sorry, buddy, but there are other fish in the sea.”
“I have no desire to mate with fish. They smell like—”
“—yeah, me neither. Good thing we have hundreds of Ruxins in the Breakers.”
“My crews add a few hundred more to that tally. But we have no females, unless some neuters genderize. Perhaps I should revert to being a neuter. Eventually, I’d like to try becoming female.”
Loco shuddered. “That’s just... wrong.”
“Not wrong, just different. Life as a neuter is far more emotionally stable, and becoming female might be quite interesting, sexually. Additionally, there’s always the fulfillment of physically gestating offspring.”
“Just... think about it, buddy, before you do anything drastic.”
“Never fear, Johnny Paloco. I do more thinking before 0900 hours than you do all day.”
“Are you calling me stupid?”
“Would I do that?”
“I think you would.”
“I think you’re right.” Zaxby let out a sigh. “Let’s go get a beer.”
Loco’s eyebrows shot up. “You drink beer now?”
“I adapted a version for Ruxin consumption, made from fermented kelp flavored with sea snails. It’s become quite popular. I own several breweries now.”
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