She snorted, rudely. Her mother had asked her, point-blank, when she intended to do her duty to the family and have kids. Hoshiko had pointed out, in response, that she had plenty of time to have children before it was too late - and besides, she had a career. And she’d made sure to have some of her eggs stored, just in case. Her mother could find a suitable sperm donor, if Hoshiko died in the line of duty. Something of her daughter would survive.
Her bags were already resting on the deck. Hoshiko checked them quickly, then sat down at the desk. The terminal lit up at once, informing her that there were hundreds of messages in her inbox. Hoshiko glanced at the headers, decided that most of them were pointless and sighed, again. Too many people thought she had nothing better to do than answer their queries immediately.
Shaking her head, she brought up the classified report on the LinkShip project and began to read it carefully. Very carefully. She didn't have the groundpounder fear of linking herself to a computer, even an AI, but she had to admit that the scientists really had pushed the limits about as far as they would go. A human-machine interface was one thing, yet this ... the pilot and the ship were practically one entity. Hoshiko had no idea how the concept would work in practice. Ideally, she would have preferred to test the LinkShip thoroughly before sending it into a war zone.
We have no choice, she told herself, firmly. We are at war. And we are massively outnumbered. If we don't come up with some advanced weapons, something to even the odds, we’re screwed.
She took a moment to reflect on what the Tokomak would do to the Solar Union. They’d smash every asteroid, bombard every world ... they’d bombard Earth, even though it was a blatantly uncivilised hellhole these days. Even letting them anywhere near the sector would be a grave mistake. They’d lay waste to the Galactic Alliance even if they couldn't touch Sol herself. The war had barely begun and humanity had its back pressed firmly against the wall.
We need every weapon we can muster, she thought, coldly. And if that means taking risks ... well, we’ll have to take them.
***
Hameeda sucked in her breath as the fleet came into view. It was massively impressive, even to her; hundreds of warships and freighters, assembled in something that might - charitably - be called a formation. A Tokomak fleet commander would have had a heart attack if his fleet had been assembled so poorly - the Tokomak insisted that fleets had to fly in precise formation at all times - but it was unlikely that any such commander had ever seen real combat. A loose formation would be far more agile if the shit hit the fan.
She slowed the LinkShip, falling neatly into position behind the cruisers. They were powerful ships, perhaps the most powerful ships of their size in the entire galaxy, but they would have great difficulty hitting her. Simulations ran through her mind, suggesting that she could carry out a whole series of attack manoeuvres against the cruisers without running a serious risk, although she knew better than to take that for granted. The cruisers were linked together into a formidable fighting force. They’d be able to fill space with energy blasts and missiles if they wished.
I really do have to think of a name for the ship, she thought, as she sent her IFF to the flagship. Calling the ship by my own name does seem rather pretentious.
She leaned back in her chair, waiting for a response. Admiral Stuart would have been briefed on the LinkShip now, she thought. The Admiral’s file downloaded into her head, confirming that Hoshiko Stuart was one of those Stuarts ... and, more importantly, that she was spaceborn. She wouldn't have any qualms about the LinkShips. Hameeda read the file carefully, then disconnected from the helmet and stood. Her body felt weak, even though she’d only been in direct rapport for ... she frowned as she checked her implants. They insisted she’d been in rapport for hours, but it felt like only a few minutes. She summoned an energy drink from the nearest dispenser and took a long swallow. It tasted foul, but it helped snap her awake.
An alert popped up in front of her. Admiral Stuart was trying to contact her.
“Put her through,” she said. Or thought. She wasn't sure herself. “I’ll speak to her in here.”
Admiral Stuart’s image materialised in front of her. Hameeda studied her with ill-concealed interest. She looked young, surprisingly slight for a spaceborn; her face was pale, with almond eyes that reflected her family’s genetic heritage. Hameeda felt an odd flicker of kinship, remembering just how much of her mother’s looks she’d kept when she reached adulthood. She’d been mature enough to realise that endlessly reshaping her body to fit the latest fashions was stupid by the time she’d reached adulthood. Some of her childhood friends had never quite realised it.
“Admiral,” she said. “I’m sorry I can't report to you in person.”
“I quite understand,” Admiral Stuart said. She had a Solarian accent, without any hints of Old Earth. “I read the briefing notes very carefully, Captain. Do you have anything to add to them?”
“Not yet,” Hameeda said. “If I discover any limitations, or inaccuracies written into the paperwork, you’ll be the first to know.”
Admiral Stuart’s eyes narrowed. “And do you believe there are ... limitations or inaccuracies?”
Hameeda took a breath. “With all due respect, Admiral, we’re breaking new ground here. The neural link itself is remarkable, but it isn’t the only thing. There are dozens of pieces of technology worked into the LinkShip which are either completely new or extensive revamps of last-generation tech. We will not know quite what is wrong, if anything, until we test the ship extensively.”
“Very good,” Admiral Stuart said, finally. “Now, the paperwork said nothing about how you should be deployed. What do you recommend?”
“The simplest mission is scouting,” Hameeda said, after a moment. “My stealth systems are remarkably good. I can pass through a typical gravity point, I believe, without being detected. They’d have to sweep the area thoroughly to catch me.”
“I believe they’ve already started securing the gravity points closer to Tokomak itself,” Admiral Stuart said. “Could you get through one of those?”
“Perhaps,” Hameeda said. “The real problem would be the gravity fluctuation caused by the transit. I would find it a great deal easier to sneak into a planet’s high orbitals.”
“You might have your chance,” Admiral Stuart told her. “Anything else?”
“I can handle hit-and-run attacks,” Hameeda said. “However, I should warn you that this ship does not have the killing power of a cruiser.”
“So the reports said,” Admiral Stuart said. “We will, of course, discuss it at a later date.”
“Of course, Admiral.”
“We should be departing in a week, two weeks at most,” Admiral Stuart added. “I’ll make sure to meet with you personally before we go.”
Her image vanished. Hameeda frowned, sitting back in her chair. Admiral Stuart sounded doubtful ... not, she supposed, that she could really blame the older woman. Everyone had read Superiority, after all. A star empire had become so intent on developing and deploying the latest advanced weapons - all of which had really been quite advanced - that they’d overlooked their glaring weaknesses until it was too late. The Solar Union was in the same boat, with the added disadvantage that victory with conventional weapons was extremely unlikely. They were so badly outnumbered that they had to push for the most advanced weapons possible.
And we have imaginations, she thought, remembering Admiral Webster’s briefings. The Tokomak forgot how to imagine a long time ago.
A servitor drone appeared, carrying a bowl of soup and a mug of coffee. Hameeda felt a flicker of annoyance, just for a second. She’d programmed the datanet’s subroutines to look after her, with a level of intrusion that would be unthinkable outside a prison, and it was quite insistent. She didn't feel like eating, but ... she took the bowl and spoon anyway. The subroutine would keep nagging her until she gave in.
Which is why no one wanted to buy a House RI, she thought, wryly. Being nagged by
your parents or your partner is one thing, but being nagged by a machine is far worse.
She sipped the soup carefully, forcing her body to relax. It was hard to realise, sometimes, that she’d had a life before bonding herself to the ship, even though it had only been two days. She’d grown so used to it that her former life felt more like a recorded memory than anything else. And yet, and yet ...
I have to take care of myself, she told herself. She could get some rest, now, while the remainder of the fleet assembled. She’d be fresh when the time came to jump into FTL and head to their destination. The ship is useless without me.
***
Hoshiko broke the connection with a strong sense of unease. She hadn’t been quite sure what to expect from a person who’d linked themselves - permanently - to a starship computer, even though the briefing notes had insisted that the process wasn’t fatal. Hameeda - there was no surname listed in the files, suggesting she was a second-gen who wanted to cut all ties to Old Earth - had come across as a strange mixture of arrogant and scatter-brained. Hoshiko had met more than her fair share of aliens, entities who weren't human and didn't think as humans did, but Hameeda had still struck her as odd. But then, anyone who wanted to accept a life sentence on a starship had to be a little bit odd. Hoshiko had loved her first command, but she hadn't wanted to stay on the ship for the rest of her life.
But it might be better than the alternative, she thought, making a mental note to obtain the remaining files. She was Hameeda’s commanding officer. She had every right to demand the files. And a LinkShip is surprisingly comfortable for its size.
Her intercom bleeped. “Admiral?”
“Yes, Yolanda?” Hoshiko glanced towards the closed hatch. It wouldn't have been hard for Yolanda to walk into her cabin. Bad news? Or just another case of the younger woman’s shyness. She’d never be a commanding officer unless she overcame it. “Go ahead.”
“The vote was just taken,” Yolanda said. “Nine-tenths of the electorate voted in favour of war. The Senate has authorised us to depart on our planned date.”
Hoshiko frowned. She’d expected all, but a few crackpots to support the war. Very few of the voters would want the war, yet ... they’d understand it had to be fought. But then, few forces in the universe were as powerful as self-delusion. Hoshiko had seen vast fleets, in the course of her career, and even she had difficulty grasping the size of the juggernaut bearing down on Earth.
“Very good,” she said, banishing the thought. They had a chance to turn back the tide and that was all that mattered. “Signal the fleet. We’re going to war.”
Chapter Five
Hurry up and wait, Martin thought, as he tossed his carryall into the locker. Hurry up and wait and be told that your destination has changed four times before you even reach the fleet.
He told himself, firmly, that he shouldn’t be so annoyed. The Solar Union had never deployed over a thousand warships outside the Sol System in its entire history. Millions of men and women were being deployed, from starship crews to groundpounders and maintenance staff. They should be grateful there hadn’t been more confusion. But it was still a little irritating.
“The lads are finding their bunks now,” Sergeant Howe said. The flagship, in common with all capital ships, seemed to begrudge setting any space aside for the marines. Marine Country was a tiny set of compartments, barely large enough for a couple of SF units. “You’ll be delighted to know you have an office.”
Martin snorted. “If I ever have a chance to use it,” he said. He’d never actually had an office before, although he’d sometimes had to make use of secure briefing rooms. Special Forces units were not encouraged to grow attached to any particular base. They had to be ready to pack up and leave on a moment’s notice. “Leave it empty, for the moment.”
“Yes, sir,” Howe said. He sounded vastly amused. “And you have a visitor. She’s waiting at the hatch.”
“I have a visitor?” Martin frowned. He had very few friends outside the marines. Had one of them been assigned to Defiant? “Who?”
“Go see, sir,” Howe said. “You won’t regret it.”
Martin eyed him warningly, then shrugged and strode up towards the hatch at the end of the compartment. By tradition, Marine Country was practically a foreign embassy. Spacers were not allowed to enter, not without permission. The ship’s captain could enter, of course - the captain had boundless authority over his ship - but even he would hesitate to enter unless it was urgent. Marines and spacers simply didn’t mix. Countless bar fights during shore leave proved it.
The hatch hissed open at his approach, revealing a pale dark-haired girl. Martin felt his mouth drop open in surprise, then ran forward and gave Yolanda a tight hug. She’d said she had a new assignment, when she’d written to him, but it had never occurred to him that she might be on Defiant. They hadn’t served together - or at least on the same ship - since their first deployment.
She kissed him quickly, then stepped back, her eyes flickering around nervously. They weren't in the same chain of command, which would have made their relationship illegal, but people would still talk. Martin wondered, idly, what they’d make of it. Would they tease Yolanda for dating a marine? Or him, for dating a spacer? Or would they suggest that Yolanda had somehow gotten his unit assigned to Defiant so she could be with her lover?
“It’s good to see you again,” she said. “I thought ... I thought you’d be on Chesty.”
“They reassigned us here, eventually,” Martin said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. He was tempted to suggest that they seek privacy, although he knew he had to go back to his berth fairly quickly. “What happened?”
“A handful of units were added to our order of battle,” Yolanda told him. “And they had to remain concentrated. We couldn't split them up and scatter them over the warships.”
“Ah, newer units,” Martin said. “Are they fit to fight?”
“So we have been told,” Yolanda said. Her almond eyes crinkled with amusement. “I thought you were the ground-combat expert.”
Martin shook his head. “Talk to the oldsters,” he said. “The really old guys. They’ve forgotten more than I’ll ever know.”
“You’ll be old too, one day,” Yolanda said. “And then you’ll look back on this day and laugh.”
“Maybe,” Martin said. He’d never sought higher rank - Special Forces was simply more challenging than flying a desk - but there were times when he wondered. If the senior officers were constantly rejuvenated, to the point where old age wouldn't force them to retire, would they retire at all? And what would that mean for younger officers who wanted to rise to the very top? “Or maybe I’ll die on the mission.”
Yolanda looked reproving. “Don’t even joke about it.”
Martin shook his head. Yolanda had a million-ton starship wrapped around her. Defiant could shrug off nuclear and antimatter blasts that would devastate entire planets. But a marine on the ground, even one wearing a battlesuit, was fragile in a way no spacer could understand. Martin had seen too many people die on combat deployments. There were limits to how far his life could be protected and he knew it. A single superheated plasma burst would be enough to burn through his suit and kill him.
And if we go without the suits, we’ll be even more fragile, he reminded himself. We’re not invincible ...
“We’ll see what happens,” he said, neutrally. “I ... I didn’t realise you’d been assigned to Defiant.”
“Admiral Stuart has been assigned to Defiant,” Yolanda said. “And where she goes, I go.”
“Ouch,” Martin said. Following a senior officer around, acting as a combination of secretary, tactical officer and sounding board, was pretty close to his idea of hell. He’d enjoyed shadowing Major Tracy, back before he’d transferred to Special Forces, but it wasn’t something he wanted to do for the rest of his life. Or even for a year. “Is she a good boss?”
“She could be worse,” Yolanda said. “And I only have six months lef
t before I get reassigned.”
“Unless it gets extended,” Martin pointed out. There hadn't been any discussions about how long the deployment would actually last, but he’d be surprised if it was less than a year or two. Yolanda might find herself stuck until the fleet returned to Earth. “You might have to roll with it.”
“Probably,” Yolanda said. She sounded as if she didn’t particularly care. Martin admired her ability to make the best of a maddening assignment. She didn't have the opportunity to go to the shooting range and burn off her frustrations on a handful of holographic targets. “Needs must, when the devil vomits on your toenails.”
Martin laughed, remembering the days they’d watched the entire series of movies, one after the other. They’d been hellishly unrealistic - he dreaded to think what his CO would say if he proposed arming marines with swords on a modern battlefield - but funny. And gruesome. It was almost a shame that the real universe was not quite as fantastic.
The Long-Range War Page 5