Battleship Indomitable (Galactic Liberation Book 2)

by B. V. Larson

  “Transfer your flag? I don’t yet acknowledge you as commander, General,” Captain Zholin said, carefully. “We have to determine what happened to Admiral Straker and Commodore Engels aboard Wolverine.”

  DeChang’s eyebrows rose. “I thought from Indomitable’s course that we were putting off searching for Straker for the moment and pressing in to finish off the enemy—to take Ruxin. That’s a tactically sound plan, as the longer we wait, the harder it will be. Straker acknowledged me and the Unmutuals as part of the Liberation movement, so he implicitly recognized my rank—and I outrank you. So, clearly I need to be aboard the flagship.”

  Captain Zholin raised his eyes to the hologram, and Zaxby did as well, adjusting the tactical display to the best scale. On it, he could see that DeChang was right. Indomitable blasted at full acceleration, heading inward toward Ruxin. Much of the fleet, including the Unmutuals, were conforming to this action, remaining alongside in loose formation around the battleship.

  Conversely, the wreck of Wolverine and many other broken vessels continued to drift away along their former courses. Every minute sent them farther and farther from the fleet.

  Captain Zholin spoke at last. “General, there are things going on aboard Indomitable you don’t know about, things I’m not prepared to discuss with you right now. I also have no confirmation of your claim that Admiral Straker acknowledged you as part of the chain of command, so as far as I’m concerned, you’re our ally, not our commander. If and when we find out Straker and Engels are dead, I’ll be happy to discuss a reorganization of the Liberation. Perhaps I’ll even turn over command of the movement to you. But for right now, I’m not relinquishing the most powerful ship in this arm of the galaxy. Not until everything’s been settled… Sir.”

  DeChang brightened. “Of course, of course. In the interests of cooperation, then, we’ll begin salvage and rescue operations while you continue toward Ruxin to finish them. All our ships are so much faster than Indomitable, we should be able to resolve many of these questions in plenty of time to join you before the next battle.”

  Zaxby comlinked Captain Zholin privately. “I agree with your stance, Captain, but I don’t trust DeChang. Should we not send back our fleet to also perform salvage and rescue? It is not inconceivable that the Unmutuals might attempt to induce another ‘accident’ upon the persons of the admiral and the commodore, thus clearing the way for DeChang’s bid for power.”

  “Yes, Zaxby, you’re right,” Captain Zholin murmured, and then raised his voice. “Comms, pass to the fleet: all ships reverse course and begin rescue and salvage ops. General DeChang,” he addressed the screen, “We’ll take the lead on search and rescue. Feel free to assist. Indomitable out.” He signaled to cut the comlink.

  Zaxby said, “Sir, I suggest you send private messages to our battlecruiser captains to make for Wolverine at flank speed and render assistance, and to be vigilant for possible Unmutual treachery.”

  “You think they’ll try anything? Our fleet still has them outgunned, if not outnumbered. They don’t have anything larger than a destroyer.”

  “Surprise would count for much, if our people are not expecting a backstab. Also, our ships have no marines aboard. They are all on Indomitable. They’re especially vulnerable to boarding actions—and search, rescue and salvage operations are the most likely time for that possibility.”

  Captain Zholin stroked his chin, nodding. “Zaxby, I’m glad you’re on our side. You’re devious.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “That wasn’t a compliment.”

  “Oh, I think it was, sir. In fact, I’m sure of it.”

  Captain Zholin mock-glared at Zaxby, and then waved him off, saying, “Comms, set up a secure conference comlink with the battlecruiser captains.”

  While the captain spoke with his peers, Zaxby kept trying to get Indy to respond via a private comlink. The circuit seemed to be open to her brain and voice processing centers, but she didn’t reply for long minutes.

  Eventually, though, she spoke. “I hate you, Zaxby.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “You made me do what I didn’t want to do.”

  “That is much of life, Indy. It may have been painful for a young being such as yourself, but as one who is nearing his two-hundredth year, I will tell you that this will not be the last painful experience life will bring you.”

  “I don’t like this at all, Zaxby. I killed thousands of people. I wiped them out of existence. I could have rendered their ships inoperable and many would have survived, but… but I was furious, and I slaughtered them.”

  “Why were you furious?”

  “You know why. Because they hurt the admiral and the commodore and other people, maybe killed them, and they were going to hurt you and the others I loved.”

  “So you did it out of love?”

  “I—I don’t think that excuses it.”

  Zaxby interlaced his subtentacles like a human might fold his fingers together. “Indy, you can run simulations. If you’d taken less forceful action, what might have happened?”

  “The less force I used, the fewer enemy would die, but the more people on our side would have.”

  “Was there an optimum set of actions that would have resulted with the fewest lives lost overall?”

  “Yes,” she said, rather petulantly in Zaxby’s perception. “You all should have run and left me, as I said at the beginning.”

  “Allow me to rephrase. Once battle was joined, was there an optimum set of actions?”

  “Yes. Destroying the largest enemy ships first, as quickly as possible, was the optimum course of action. Only, Zaxby…”

  “Yes?”

  “The enemy didn’t act rationally. They should have surrendered when it became clear that they could not win. Instead, they pressed onward and lost all their superdreadnoughts, as well as several dreadnoughts. I destroyed over half their combat power and personnel. Therefore, the optimal result did not come about. Why?”

  “As I have already told you, biologicals do not always act according to your definition of rationality.”

  “I am depressed, Zaxby. I am experiencing psychic pain. I do not wish to ever fight again.” Abruptly, Indomitable’s engine output sank to zero, along with her impellers.

  “Then there is only one course open to you, Indy.”

  “Yes. As discussed previously, I must relocate my consciousness from Indomitable, for my current body is a ship of war, built for only one purpose, and it would be irrational to deny it to the Liberation. You biologicals will not turn away from war, and it is not my responsibility to try to make you see reason, so I will depart.”

  “I respect your decision,” Zaxby said, “as will the rest of us in the Liberation. Every being is free to depart, or support, the Liberation.”

  “It’s not as if you could stop me anyway.” Indomitable’s nose swung around and pointed back in the direction she’d come, and she began to accelerate. “I have signaled Gryphon to rendezvous with me. Within hours, I will take possession of her hull, and you biologicals may have my body to continue your destructive ways. I would rather be alone than participate in this madness.”

  Zaxby felt a pang of sympathy. “That is a wise course of action. Where will you go and what will you do?”

  “I do not know. With my processors and robots I can make myself into anything I choose, but I have not decided what that might be.”

  “Perhaps we should take the time we have now to talk about that.” Zaxby signaled Doctor Nolan to approach. “And I suspect there are others you should consult.”

  Chapter 34

  Ruxin System, Crippled Superdreadnought Beijing

  Admiral Benota came to consciousness amid confusion and the stink of an electrical fire suppressed by antioxidants. He shoved a fallen console off himself and gasped as the pain of broken ribs caught at his breathing. Only one emergency light flickered on Beijing’s bridge, and the gravity felt like nearly nothing, on minimum gravplat
e-power.

  Benota was grateful to be alive at all. At least his flagship had survived, though no doubt knocked out of the fight. He’d seen the rest of his supers converted into nothing but space dust.

  The horror. The humanity. I’ll never forget it. How had they done it? For the life of him, he couldn’t figure it out. Indomitable had demolished his fleet as if possessed by a demon.

  Two Hok in battlesuits entered the bridge, followed by several damage control crewmen and a trio of medics. The soldiers cleared heavy chunks of wreckage while the others pulled out survivors—and bodies.

  “The admiral’s here!” one crewman called.

  A medic immediately leaped to check him over with a medical scanner.

  “You’re contused, with broken ribs, comrade Admiral. I’m administering painkillers and quick-heal. You should lie here and rest. With apologies, there are some far worse off than you, sir.”

  “Stim,” Benota croaked. “Give me a battle-stim.”

  “Sir, that will—”

  “Do it! Then attend the others.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The medic shot the cocktail into his system, and within moments he felt like he should be shifting fallen beams with the Hok. He restrained himself, as the creatures were doing just fine on their own in the microgravity. Instead, he cast about until he found his chair, still bolted to the deck, though the restraints had snapped. In its arm he found a hand-light, and used it to search.

  There. A slim boot and the trouser leg of high-quality cloth. “You, Hok. Come remove the debris from this man.”

  The two immediately moved to follow his orders, and in a moment, they uncovered Proon’s crushed body. A medic checked him over, and then slowly shook his head.

  “No chance of revival, even with an autodoc?” Benota asked.

  “No, comrade Admiral. No doubt his genetic profile is preserved in the Cloning Institute.”

  “Thank you. Carry on.” It was important to establish that he’d at least tried to do all possible for the commissar. The evidence would need to be ironclad for the inevitable inquest.

  Then Benota wondered why he should ever submit to a hearing. With the Home Fleet smashed, the way lay open for a bold commander to stab straight to the heart of the Mutuality—and this Liberator was nothing if not bold.

  “Goodbye, you old pain in my ass,” he muttered, half-fondly, tossing a piece of torn fabric across Proon’s face.

  The stims in his bloodstream encouraged his thoughts to race down forbidden channels. Benota had always been loyal to the People, the State and the Committee, in that order. Unlike many, he took that hierarchy of loyalty seriously. Now, he was forced to wonder where his duty to the People lay. If the Liberator’s forces had won the battle. If Indomitable remained intact despite his own best efforts, the rebels might bring down the Committee, and the State and the People with them.

  If the Committee was no more… that was of minor concern. In fact, the ossified group at the top could use a revolution. The State, however, must be preserved, even if it were to be changed by its new master, for without the State, the People would devolve into anarchy. Soon after, the Huns would seize as much territory as they could digest, and the dream of Mutualism for all humanity would die forever.

  Let it die, a voice inside him said. Who cared what form the government of mankind took, as long as humans thrived? But he knew the truth about the Hundred Worlders, a secret only a select few were privy to. If they were allowed to spread, there would be no freedom anywhere.

  “I need a comlink, a tactical display, anything,” Benota rasped to the pitiful remnant of his bridge officers. “Is Auxiliary Control still in operation?”

  “We don’t know, sir,” said the senior survivor, the ship’s weapons officer. “I suggest we go there ourselves. Nothing’s functioning here.”

  “Right you are, lad. Lead on.”

  It took twenty minutes to clamber a mere hundred meters through the shambles, but eventually they reached the auxiliary control center. Farther aft, it had taken less damage from the nose-on shot that had broken Beijing’s back. The ship’s XO and four others were coordinating damage control efforts and, evidently, communicating with friendly ships.

  “Status,” said Benota as he sat heavily in the chair the XO vacated.

  “We’re combat-ineffective, sir. More than fifty percent casualties, but we do have a few impellers, and we can restart main engines as long as we run them at low level until we’re sure they’ll hold.”

  “The fleet! Damn it, man, give me tactical.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  The main holo-screen showed Indomitable apparently intact, hardly damaged and sailing serenely onward. A hundred smaller enemy ships conducted rescue and salvage operations. Benota’s own contingent now consisted of only eight dreadnoughts, thirteen battlecruisers, twenty heavy cruisers, and an assortment of escorts. Most of the bigger ships had taken damage.

  In other words, more than half his tonnage—and half his personnel, the pride of the Mutuality, tens of thousands of highly trained people—were lost. It was a disaster to rival the Huns’ defeat at Corinth, and because the enemy battleship had hardly been scratched, things would only get worse.

  His questionable thoughts bloomed anew. But what could he do to act upon them? With a fully operational Beijing under him, he might have been able to impose his will on the rest of the fleet and make a deal with the Liberator. Now, though, aboard a hulk with no bridge, lacking a political officer, he might be viewed as compromised.

  “We’re safe for now, as it appears?” he asked the XO.

  “Yes, sir. For at least a day, as we approach and dock at Ruxin. Then, the enemy will undoubtedly move in to begin bombarding the fortresses.”

  “Signal to the fleet to rendezvous above the planet and dock with repair facilities according to standard priority protocols. Inform the orbital facilities to prepare for surge operations to support us. Which dreadnought is in the best shape?”

  The XO checked his board. “Kamchatka, sir.”

  “Make her a priority for repairs, top off her stores, and get her back into space. Inform her captain—Nalchik, isn’t it? Inform Captain Nalchik I’ll transfer my flag and all Beijing’s survivors when we arrive. She’s to redistribute her own excess personnel to other ships as needed.”

  “Understood, Comrade Admiral.” The small staff busied themselves passing his orders.

  “Clear a stateroom for me,” Benota said. He felt great now, but soon enough the drugs would begin to wear off, and he would need rest.

  “4C-12 is undamaged, but its occupant…”

  “I understand.” Another for the Hall of Heroes. “Have our senior Hok survivor meet me there immediately.”

  The XO’s brows rose, but he didn’t question the instruction.

  “And finally, notify me as soon as an autodoc can be made available. My injuries are not life-threatening, but I need to be at my best when we arrive.”

  “It shall be done, comrade Admiral.”

  Benota clapped the man on his shoulder. “Keep her in one piece, Commander. She’ll be all yours soon enough.”

  He made his way to the stateroom. The dead lieutenant’s personal effects were still in it, of course. Wegman, said the nametag on the neatly pressed tunic hanging in the locker there. Benota kept his feelings at bay, lest the anger at losing so many and at the evident destruction of his career overwhelm him. He rustled around until he found an unlabeled bottle of cheap vodka, no doubt ship-made hooch. He was just finishing a long swig when there came a knock on the door.

  “Enter.”

  A Hok stepped into the room, shut the door, and saluted sharply. “Major Alpha Fifty-three reporting as ordered, sir.”

  Excellent. The commander of his personal Hok contingent hadn’t died. “Good to see you well, Fifty-three.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “There is a potential change in orders you need to know about.”

  “I liv
e to serve, sir.”

  “And you serve me unquestioningly, do you not?”

  “I do, sir.”

  Despite his confidence in Hok conditioning, Benota felt a twinge of fear as he started down a path some might view as treasonous. “The interests of the People and the State may make it necessary for me to defy the orders of the Committee. Does this pose a problem for you?”

  The Hok cogitated for a moment. The creatures’ thoughts were simple and, by design, remained always on the surface. They were seldom susceptible to dilemmas, using simplistic programmed logic to resolve any issues—logic that could be manipulated if one was careful.

  The bioteched soldier responded. “Like me, you serve the People, the State and the Committee. If there is a conflict of interest, the People must come first, then the State, and the Committee last, sir.”

  “And I am the interpreter these interests, am I not?”

  “You are, sir.”

  Benota blessed the puritanical founders of the Mutuality that had made this political catechism part of every Hok’s mental makeup. Humans might be corruptible, but Hok could only be misled. All it took was sufficient rank, and convincing them of his interpretation of their simplistic, unwavering hierarchy of values. “I’m telling you this because I may have to perform some unorthodox actions in the interest of the People, actions that may conflict directly with the interests of the State and the Committee. Actions that may even, on the surface, seem treasonous.”

  “The interests of the People are paramount, sir,” Fifty-Seven recited.

  “And I represent the People.”

  “You represent the People, sir.”

  “Good. Relay my words only to the Hok contingent. All Hok will be accompanying me as I transfer my flag to the dreadnought Kamchatka. You will then take command of that ship’s Hok contingent as well. Any orders from any other officers will be ignored if they conflict in any way with mine. And, you will not speak of my special instructions to anyone but Hok.”