Shield of Lies

by Michael P. Kube-Mcdowell

  “All right. We’ll wait for Bennie.”

  “He said not to.”

  “Well,” said Leia. “Then I guess we won’t.”

  Together Han, Leia, and Admiral Drayson watched the four minutes of data—twenty capture clips, each twenty seconds long, spanning a six-hour period. They documented the arrival of four ships and landings at widely separated sites by three of them. When the recording was finished, Leia looked up in surprise.

  “That’s not enough,” she said. “We can’t tell whether those ships went down empty or full. We can’t see if they left or stayed.”

  “Wait,” Drayson said. “The recording is ER—enhanced resolution. We can zoom on the last two clips, when the second thrustship was almost directly under the probe.”

  The enhanced images resolved the ambiguity. They revealed a glassy landing pad in the middle of an empty, undeveloped plain, and a train of cargo pallets, each nearly the size of a light freighter, being towed away from the thrustship.

  “That’s it,” Leia said. “That’s their answer.”

  Han shook his head and frowned. “I think the translation is ‘Oh yeah? Make me.’” He drew a deep breath and released it noisily. “What now?”

  “We wait for Bennie,” Leia said. “In the meantime, I want to see it again.”

  Eventually the meeting at the residence grew to include Engh, Rieekan, Falanthas, Behn-kihl-nahm, and Ackbar. There were several showings of the recording, particularly the later clips. No one who saw it failed to be concerned.

  “Bennie? What do we do?” Leia asked. “Send another ultimatum? Tell them we know what they’re doing, insist that they stop? Maybe a firm deadline this time, and a clearly stated consequence for missing it.”

  Behn-kihl-nahm’s jaws worked at her use of the nickname in that setting, but he said nothing of it. “It’s difficult to see what magic words would make another warning any more credible than the ones we’ve already sent.”

  “We should give them more time,” Minister Falanthas said. “There may be an internal struggle over this—a split between the military and the civilian government. What we see at Doornik Three Nineteen may not reflect the ultimate resolution. If we respond too forcefully, it could force them into an adversarial position.”

  “In the little we know, at least, there is no evidence the distinction is meaningful in the Duskhan League,” Ackbar said. “Nil Spaar acts with the singular initiative and decisiveness of an autocrat—an absolute ruler.”

  “He’s calling your bluff, Leia,” Han said. “There’s no other way to read this.”

  Rieekan nodded. “I agree.”

  “Yes,” said Ackbar. “Those ships have hyperdrive. If they came from N’zoth, they left after we sent the first warning.”

  “I’ll have to come back to the Defense Council, then,” Leia said, looking at the chairman.

  Behn-kihl-nahm inclined his head. “And if Senator Marook and Senator Deega prevail this time, now that the stakes are clearly higher? Do we call the Fifth Fleet home and walk away?”

  Leia stood up and walked to the study’s viewpane. From there she stared out into the quiet hedge garden, its sculpted shapes lit only by the nightglow of Imperial City. “We don’t know what’s happening on N’zoth,” she said finally. “We only know what’s happening on Doornik Three Nineteen, and that it’s unacceptable.” She turned to them, her arms crossed over her chest. “Will you support a blockade of Doornik Three Nineteen?”

  One by one, they nodded or spoke their acquiescence. Drayson was the last to respond.

  “I do not think the Yevetha will be easily persuaded of their vulnerability, or our resolve,” he said slowly. “But it seems a reasonable next step, even if it should prove insufficient.”

  Leia nodded an acknowledgment, then moved away from the viewpane and rejoined them where they sat. “Admiral Ackbar, does General A’baht have what he needs to securely blockade that system?”

  “We should consult with him on that,” Ackbar said. “With at least one Yevethan Star Destroyer already there, the general will need to come in with overwhelming force or risk immediate hostilities.”

  “Let’s pull up the rules of engagement for planetary blockade and review them with that in mind,” Leia said.

  Behn-kihl-nahm stood. “Madame President, if you will excuse me—the decisions that remain do not require my presence, and I would like to go home to be with my family. Minister Falanthas—will you walk with me? There is a small matter I need to discuss with you—”

  With the seats on either side of him suddenly empty, Nanaod Engh found a reason to excuse himself as well. Leia looked questioningly at Ackbar when Engh was gone.

  “These are hard enough decisions for soldiers,” Drayson said. “You cannot blame them if they want to distance themselves enough so that they can sleep.”

  “Why should they be the lucky ones?” Han said grumpily, and sighed. “Oh, hell. Here we go again.”

  “No,” said Leia firmly. “We’re doing this to prevent a war, not to start one. But that means we have to teach Nil Spaar that he misread us. That’s going to be General A’baht’s real mission. Nothing more.”

  General A’baht turned away from the display with the blockade order. “Finally,” he said. “Finally.”

  “What?” asked Captain Morano.

  “We’re going into the Cluster,” A’baht said. “We’re going to deny the Yevetha the use of Doornik Three Nineteen as a forward base.” A’baht looked past Morano to the lieutenant at the comm station. “Call my tactical staff. Bring in the secondary screens. And alert all commands to prepare for redeployment.”

  Ultimately, thirty-one ships of the Fifth Battle Group of the New Republic Defense Force were chosen to make the entry into the six-planet blue-white star system cataloged as Doornik 319. Leading the deployment were the Fleet carrier Intrepid, the battle cruisers Stalwart, Illustrious, Liberty, and Vigilant, and the assault carriers Repulse and Shield. The blockade entry was prefaced three minutes in advance by a new hypercomm message from Princess Leia to the Yevetha.

  “The Yevethan government’s reckless decision to resupply the bases and settlements located on illegally seized territory is in clear defiance of our order to withdraw,” Leia said. “I therefore declare an immediate blockade of such locations as we may choose.

  “It is our declared purpose in this blockade to interdict any and all inbound traffic, and to peaceably oversee the withdrawal of Yevethan citizens and the removal of Yevethan facilities. But know this—in the event of any hostile acts directed at New Republic vessels taking part in the blockade, our commanders in the field are authorized to respond immediately with all necessary force.

  “To avoid unnecessary bloodshed, I call on Viceroy Nil Spaar to promptly and clearly announce your intention to abide by the terms of the order of withdrawal, and to give unambiguous evidence by your actions of the sincerity of your words.

  “Any other course you choose will lead to war.”

  Good words, General A’baht thought, with grudging respect. Strong words. May the viceroy hear the steel in your voice, and spare the lives of our mothers’ sons and daughters.

  “Signal ferret reentry now,” sang out the jump manager.

  “Confirm alert level zero,” said Captain Morano.

  “Confirming!” called the exec. “All defense systems active. Shields set to go automatic on reentry. Flash alert receivers in the green. All stations crewed. All weapons on standby. Interceptor Two, Five, Eight, Fighter Red, Gold, Black, are on the deck and hot.”

  “Picket line reentry now,” sang out the jump manager.

  Captain Morano nervously tightened the straps holding him in his flak couch. “So how many combat jumps have you made, General?” he said to A’baht.

  “Too many, and not enough,” said A’baht.

  “I understand that,” Morano said. “Say—what was that Dornean war prayer again?”

  “I have already said it for us,” A’baht said, noddi
ng.

  “Attention, all hands!” called the jump manager. “Realspace entry in five—four—three—two—”

  “Remember, everyone, there’s at least one big Star Destroyer out there—let’s find it fast!” Morano called out.

  “—one—”

  The jump alarm sounded, and the bridge view-screens blurred with streaks of white. When the streaks abruptly collapsed into a brilliant field of stars, a brown-and-white planet, two-thirds in night, filled a generous share of the forward view.

  “Stang, look at them all,” someone breathed, reacting to the spectacle of the Cluster viewed from within. “How are the gunners supposed to find their targets against that background?”

  “Cut the chatter,” A’baht snapped. “I want a head count.”

  “Polling the task force, sir.”

  “Tactical!” Morano called. “Where are you?”

  “Sensors report no targets. Pickets report no contacts. Prowlers report no contacts.”

  “Where’s that Star Destroyer?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “Must be on the other side of the planet,” Morano said to A’baht. “I don’t know if that’s lucky for them or for us.”

  Reports kept coming from stations all around the bridge of Intrepid.

  “General, poll is complete—all ships reporting on station.”

  “Hangar boss reports all flights away, Captain. Fighter screen is moving to position.”

  “Let’s push those lead pickets out and get a look at the other side,” said A’baht. “Anything from the ground scans yet?”

  “Located six—now seven—landing sites with adjacent structures,” answered the sensor operator. “No grounded ships, any design.”

  Morano turned to look at A’baht. “Maybe they got smart and left before we got here?”

  “Let’s wait until we hear from the lead pickets,” A’baht said, touching his combat comm. “This is task force leader, all units. Open the formation and take up assigned orbits configuration. Maintain your alerts.”

  Over the next half hour the furious, nearly frantic activity of the first few moments faded to a more manageable level. With an all-clear from the lead pickets, the ships dispersed into the blockade screen—the capital ships moving north and south in midlevel orbits, the secondaries east and west in high orbits, and the enclosing halo of pickets and prowlers expanding outward.

  Through it all, the Yevethan Star Destroyer was nowhere to be found. Nor were any thrustships located, either on the ground or in orbit. Morano frowned into his hand as he studied the scan board. A’baht bounced a fist on the armrest of his flak couch, wondering if he believed their good fortune.

  “No dragons today?” Morano asked finally. “The Princess will be pleased.”

  A’baht shook his head. “This doesn’t feel right.”

  “Maybe at the end of the day, the Yevetha are the kind of bullies that back down when someone finally stands up to them.”

  “No,” said A’baht. “No, that’s not the right personality. They’re tougher—and colder—than that. Operations! I want scouts sent immediately to the other planets in the system. I’ve got a feeling the Yevetha didn’t go very far.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  But there was no chance for that order to be carried out. Contact alarms began to sound, and the tactical officer shouted over them, “Captain! I’ve got incoming hostiles, six, eight, ten, fifteen, all vectors, very high closing speeds—they must be microjumping in behind the pickets—”

  Something detonated against Intrepid’s forward particle shields, bathing the bridge in blinding light until the dazzlers responded. The shield shock made the ship sway slightly underfoot.

  “Where did that come from?”

  “We’re taking ground fire, General—ion cannon and high-velocity missiles. Three sites.”

  “Show me tactical.”

  The center viewscreen metamorphosed into a three-dimensional tactical display, which showed the task force’s ships arrayed in three shells orbiting the planet. The attacking vessels were already inside the outer shell, diving in toward the larger ships from half the compass.

  “This is task force leader,” A’baht said grimly. “All ships, counterfire at will. Defend yourselves.”

  “All batteries, return fire, counterforce protocol,” Morano ordered. “Tactical—report enemy strength.”

  “Count three, repeat, three Imperial-class Star Destroyers; six, repeat, six Aramadia-class thrustships; one additional capital ship, unknown configuration and design.”

  It all happened so quickly that surprise never faded from the bridge of Intrepid. The attacking Star Destroyers dove in at high speed, their forward batteries firing without cessation. A’baht watched the spherical thrustships with special interest. With their large silhouettes, the Yevethan-designed ships seemed as though they should be vulnerable, but they proved otherwise. Without ever seeming to drop shields, they launched volleys of torpedoes and released salvos of a type of side-steering gravity bomb not previously seen. All the time, heavy laser batteries fired from six concealed and widely spaced gun ports.

  A cluster of four Yevethan gravity bombs targeted the light escort Trenchant in high orbit, overwhelming its particle shields with a coordinated detonation. Moments later a proton torpedo struck it forward of the bridge, and it disappeared inside a billowing fireball.

  “All defense batteries, target those slow bombs,” the ship’s tactical officer ordered. “General, sir, Liberty is reporting six fighters down, lateral shields at one-quarter. Repulse is moving to screen her.”

  Morano pounded his fist on the armrest. “We’ve got numbers on them, but we’re deployed all wrong for this kind of attack. We’re sandwiched in between them and the planet with no room to maneuver.”

  “Patience, Captain,” A’baht said. “We need a little more.”

  The tracking officer turned at his station. “General—the enemy vessels are not sustaining contact. They’re making one pass only, then veering off to multiple headings. There may be more coming in behind them, sir.”

  “Hold your speculation unless asked for it,” A’baht said. “Colonel Corgan, where do we stand?”

  The tactical officer for A’baht’s staff frowned over his console. “Fifty seconds more, General. Then I’ll be ready to transmit.”

  “Fifty seconds it is,” A’baht said. “Task force leader—all secondaries prepare to break orbit to vector five-five-two. All primaries cover the withdrawal.”

  The comm chief signaled A’baht through his couch console. “Sir, the captains of Illustrious and Liberty are asking for permission to pursue.”

  “Denied,” A’baht said. “Task force leader, all ships. Lock up on your debris and take it with you—I want bodies pulled before we jump out.”

  Now it was the ship tactical officer’s turn. “Sir—we can take them. We just need to regroup and pursue—”

  “At what losses, under these conditions? Lieutenant, we didn’t come here to win at any cost, in a battle zone they chose and at a time that suited them,” A’baht said. “We came here for the information we need to win the next time. And that next time is coming sooner than they think.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Transmitting,” Colonel Corgan said. “Dispatch away.”

  A’baht nodded. “Task force leader—secondaries break orbit. We got what we came for—now the Yevetha will get what they deserve.” He switched his hypercomm to the scrambled command channel and keyed the transmit code. “All groups, your authorization is kaph-samekh-nine-cipher-nine-go-daleth. Hit ’em hard.”

  The eighteen ships of Task Force Aster were waiting at their staging area two light-hours above the plane of the Doornik 319 system. The word was passed to them by the task force commander, Commodore Brand, aboard the star cruiser Indomitable.

  “All ships, alert,” he said. “The Yevetha have resisted the blockade. We’re going in. You should be receiving updated target and jump vect
or data from Group Tactical now. Countdown to the jump-in will begin on my call. All batteries, make sure you have positive target acquisition. It’s going to be crowded down there.”

  Two light-hours below the planetary plane, similar directions were passed to the twenty ships of Task Force Blackvine by Commodore Tolsk. The word filtered quickly down through the ranks and out from the bridge, reaching even the crews waiting in the cockpits of their fighters and assault craft, which were arrayed for launch on the hangar decks.

  “Are you keeping an eye on that number three engine?” Skids called forward to the pilot’s cockpit of the K-wing. “It looks a little hot from back here.”

  “I’m on top of it,” Esege Tuketu answered. “But everything in here is going to run a little hot till they throw the doors open and start pushing us out. She can take it.”

  “I just don’t want to hear ‘Oops’ at the end of a power dive on one of those Star Destroyers,” Skids said.

  “I promise—you won’t,” Tuke said.

  “Good.”

  “—I’ll just think it to myself.”

  “Is it too late for me to find another pilot?”

  Ahead of them, the great armored clamshell doors of Hangar Bay 5 began to open. “It’s too late,” said Tuke. “You just make sure all our eggs are safe. I don’t want to crack one early.”

  “Point this thing straight and you won’t have to worry about that.”

  Moving as one under the control of the floor chief, the assault bombers of the 24th Bombardment Squadron accelerated down the draglines—first Black Flight, its six K-wings in two rows, three abreast, then Green, then Red. The most dangerous part about cluster launches was executing the break on time—the spacing was so tight that impatience in the back rows could wipe out half the squadron.

  “Red Leader clear,” Tuke called back to Indomitable’s battle operations center as his tracking system lit. “Acquiring target.”

  “My, my, my—they sure turned all the lights on for us,” Skids said on the local comm, craning his head to look in all directions. “I’ve never seen such a sky full of stars.”