He looked at Askew. “I trust this is suitable?”
“It is more than suitable,” Askew said. The man hadn’t shown any reaction whatsoever to the carnage the fleet had unleashed on Judd. He seemed to view the attack as perfectly normal. “The Commonwealth will be kept very busy indeed.”
“And they’ll have to waste their resources rebuilding the system,” Admiral Zaskar added. He had no idea if the Commonwealth would make a major commitment to Judd or not, but they’d pay a price no matter what they chose. “It will be very difficult for them.”
He turned to his subordinates. “Order the transports to expedite the loading,” he added. “We need to be moving soon.”
“Damn those bastards,” Rupert Flinty swore. “Damn them to hell!”
“Watch your mouth,” Simon Laager snapped. “We don’t want to be seen up here.”
He kept his own feelings to himself as they lay on the ledge, peering down at the POW camp in the valley below. It had been sheer dumb luck that they hadn’t been with the rest of the company when their comrades had made their last stand. They’d been sent out to hunt for deer, and they’d been too far away from the camp to rejoin the company during the attack. Now all they could do was watch.
It wasn’t a pleasant sight. The defenders, all too aware of the fate that awaited anyone who surrendered, had fought to the death. A handful of soldiers who’d been too wounded to fight had simply been shot down like wild animals. Now the invaders were going through the prisoners, dispatching half of them to the shuttles and pointing the other half towards the road leading down to civilization. It looked as if the Theocrats were having everything their own way. A couple of prisoners who objected, from what little they could see, had simply been shot, their bodies left to rot where they’d fallen.
“They’re taking all the women with them,” Flinty commented. “Good.”
“Not for them,” Simon said. He had no sympathy for the male prisoners, be they faithful or simple collaborators, but the women had been treated like dirt. It was hard to understand why any of them had refused the offer of a better life somewhere else. “They’re going straight to hell.”
He ducked down as the first shuttle started to rise into the air. If they’d had an HVM . . . He shook his head. It wasn’t as if they’d needed antiaircraft missiles to go hunting. In hindsight, the camp should have expected an attack from the air, or space, but no one had considered the possibility. They’d believed the Theocracy was dead. The shuttles, two more rising even now, proved that they were wrong. He didn’t want to think what the plumes of smoke, rising from the direction of the nearest city, meant. The Theocrats might have flattened every building they could see.
And they certainly tried to destroy the caves, he thought, remembering the nightmarish days when the Theocrats had realized that the resistance was using the caves to hide. They’d bombed the entire region from orbit, crushing hundreds of fighters below fallen rock. They’ll probably try to do it again.
He scrambled to his feet as the fourth and last shuttle clawed for space. The pilot didn’t seem inclined to go looking for trouble—his human cargo was presumably vital—but there was no point in staying anywhere near the camp. If Simon was any judge, the Theocrats would probably destroy it from orbit once the former prisoners had scattered. Even if they didn’t, he didn’t want to stick around anyway. The former prisoners would be hunting for any survivors from the garrison.
Flinty caught his eyes as they scrambled down the ravine. “So . . . where do we go?”
Simon had to think. “Allenstown,” he said finally. The locale had been a resistance stronghold, once upon a time. And it was only a few short hours away. “It’ll do for starters.”
And if we can’t make contact there, we’ll have to find somewhere else to go, he added privately. That won’t be easy.
But he couldn’t think of anything else to do.
“The shuttles have returned to the ships, Admiral.”
Admiral Zaskar nodded. “Is local space still clear?”
“Yes, Admiral.”
“Then take us out of orbit,” he ordered. “Detach a cruiser to take out the cloudscoop, then rejoin us at the first waypoint. We’ll head straight back to base from there.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
Moses nudged him. “The women will have to be purified.”
“And treated well,” Admiral Zaskar added. He knew exactly how his all-male crew would react once they heard women were aboard. Riots and mutinies would be on the horizon if he wasn’t careful. “Make sure they are well protected.”
He settled back in his command chair as the superdreadnought slowly rose out of orbit and headed away from the planet. It was a tiny victory, compared to some of the titanic clashes between starships during the war, but a victory nonetheless. The enemy would hear about it soon, of course, yet . . . what would they do? They couldn’t afford to cover every possible target, unless they wanted to spread their forces so thin he could score a series of easy victories . . . and they couldn’t find his base, unless they stumbled across it by sheer luck.
They did it to us, he thought wryly. Admiral Junayd, one of the most able commanders the Theocracy had produced, had been unable to prevent the Commonwealth from raiding behind the lines. It had cost him everything. His successors hadn’t been able to do any better. And now we will do it to them.
He smiled, rather coldly. Perhaps he couldn’t win, in the long run. Perhaps his forces couldn’t reestablish the Theocracy, not in any shape they’d recognize. But they’d make the enemy pay a high price, in blood and treasure, for its victory. And, when he was done, the victory would turn to ashes in their mouth.
“Admiral, the fleet is ready to enter hyperspace,” the communications officer reported.
“Then open a gateway,” Admiral Zaskar ordered. The enemy was going to be raging when they discovered he’d entered the system, smashed it flat, and retreated without taking any damage. “It’s time to take our leave.”
CHAPTER TEN
* * *
AHURA MAZDA
“So, as you can see, we need more supplies,” Director Fiona Ferguson said. “We’re quite short on everything we need.”
Kat nodded as she surveyed the refugee compound. It was nearly fifty miles from the nearest population center but was still heavily defended. The refugees were almost all women, fleeing abusive husbands or fathers or even sons. She found it hard to believe that so few women had fled to the center, even though she’d pledged that none of them would ever have to go home, but the reports clearly indicated that most of the refugees were suffering from deeply embedded trauma. They found it difficult, perhaps impossible, to stand up for themselves.
They think I’m an alien, she thought grimly. Princess Drusilla had been able to face her as an equal, of sorts, but the remainder of the Theocracy, male and female alike, seemed to think she was a man in a woman’s body. They simply couldn’t wrap their heads around a woman who was something other than a daughter, a wife, or a mother. And they don’t see that they too can reach for the stars.
“I’ll do my best,” she promised quietly. “But is there any hope of them becoming . . .”
Her voice trailed off. She simply didn’t know how to put it into words. Ahura Mazda had been an intensely stratified society, with women right on the bottom. A man might be dumped on by his boss, then go home and take it out on his wife or daughters. And far too many women believed that it was perfectly normal. Some of them had even argued that men who didn’t hit them didn’t love them. It was an attitude that Kat found utterly incomprehensible. A man wouldn’t have to break his wife’s bones to go to jail on Tyre. But then, women weren’t property on Tyre.
Fiona sighed. “Perhaps not here, Admiral,” she said. “But we are teaching them new skills and . . . and showing their sons a better way to live. It is a gradual process, but it will eventually succeed.”
“Let us hope so,” Kat said. Ahura Mazda had been a pressure cooker too.
No wonder there had been an explosion of violence when the Theocracy had finally been destroyed. Too many people had been repressed for too long. “And . . .”
Her wristcom bleeped. “Admiral, this is Winters,” a voice said. “Can you please return to Commonwealth House?”
Kat’s eyes narrowed. She’d been scheduled to visit two more refugee camps, then a training center for policemen . . . although the latter might have been canceled anyway. The police cadets were being vetted, again, after the last shooting in a police station. Captain Rosslyn had practically threatened to sit on her if she wanted to go before the vetting was completed, pointing out that she was the number one terrorist target. Even the king came a distant second to the woman who’d ripped the Theocracy apart.
“Understood,” she said. If Winters was reluctant to discuss the matter over a secure commlink, it had to be important. Important enough to override whatever Kat was doing. “I’ll be on my way in a moment.”
She signaled Captain Rosslyn, then turned to Fiona. “I have to go,” she said. “But I will do what I can.”
“Please,” Fiona said. She walked Kat out of the building and down to where the armored aircar was waiting. A pair of attack helicopters sat next to it, bristling with weapons. Their crews seemed to regard escort duty as a chance for target practice. “And thank you for coming.”
Kat nodded and clambered into the aircar, leaning back into the comfortable seat as the craft hummed to life. She was wasting her time on Ahura Mazda. There was nothing that she could do that couldn’t be handled by dedicated staff. All she was really doing was making it look as though the government had the situation under control while they systematically starved the occupation forces of the resources they desperately needed. She hadn’t forgotten the attempt to draw down her destroyer squadrons, or how much political capital she’d had to spend to get the Admiralty to reverse its decision.
“We’ll be back at Commonwealth House in ten minutes,” the pilot said. “Our flight path is already being cleared.”
Kat sat upright and peered out of the window as the aircar picked up speed, heading directly towards the city. It was illuminated by bright sunlight, but the glowing buildings that had been featured in enemy propaganda were long gone. They’d been replaced by tawdry constructions that fell down if someone coughed, barracks put together from prefabricated components, and layer after layer of makeshift slums. She didn’t envy the marines who had to patrol the district. Their technological advantages shrank rapidly in such an environment. Nor did she envy the people who had to live there. She’d been on stage-one planets with better accommodations for the poor and dispossessed.
But most stage-one planets have no trouble finding work for their people, she reminded herself, as the aircar banked over the city and settled down on the landing pad. Here, there’s no work for anyone.
Kat shook her head, despondently. The facts and figures she’d seen simply couldn’t convey the sheer level of hopelessness gripping Ahura Mazda. The vast majority of the population had no work and no prospect of getting any work, save perhaps for the lowliest of jobs. She’d seriously considered forcing people to work or starve—street cleaning and rubbish collection was terminally undermanned—but the Refugee Commission had convinced her superiors to overrule her. It didn’t look as though most of the locals wanted to go back to work. The few who did were often attacked by their former fellows . . .
She stood as the aircar landed neatly, clambered out, and made her way to the briefing room. A handful of armed marines were on guard, suggesting the situation was serious. Kat wouldn’t have expected any enemy attack to make it so far inside Commonwealth House, but she understood the importance of being ready for anything. An attacking force would probably bring a bomb along and blow themselves and the building to hell rather than try to capture hostages. They knew better, these days, than to think they’d be allowed to take the hostages out of the building.
And none of us would want to be their hostages anyway, she thought as she strode into the briefing room. General Winters, Commodore Fran Higgins, and Captain Janice Wilson rose to greet her. We’d sooner die.
“Be seated,” she said tersely. There was no time for formal protocol. “What’s happened?”
“Aberdeen just dropped out of hyperspace,” Fran said. The commodore looked deeply worried. “She’s reporting a major enemy attack on Judd.”
Kat felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. “The missing enemy ships?”
“We haven’t completed the analysis of the records yet,” Fran said, “but we believe so. The enemy fleet was definitely operating Theocratic superdreadnoughts.”
“Most of them have to be sensor ghosts,” Winters said. “They are not flying hundreds of superdreadnoughts.”
“Show me the records,” Kat ordered.
She forced herself to calm down as the recording started to play. Hundreds of enemy ships . . . Winters was right. Most of them had to be sensor ghosts. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. ONI had never been entirely sure how many enemy starships had escaped destruction, as the Theocracy had managed to destroy far too many of its records before the hammer came down. But she was fairly sure there couldn’t be more than ten superdreadnoughts unaccounted for. A hundred? No, they couldn’t exist. The war would have been lost within the first year if the Theocracy had an extra hundred superdreadnoughts.
Curious, she thought as the recording started to repeat itself. They showed us enough ships to make sure we knew most of them were fakes.
She looked up at Fran. “What about the other cruisers?”
“We’re unsure as yet,” Fran said. “Captain Layman should have been able to disengage.”
“She had her drives and weapons stepped down,” Winters growled. “Admiral, that was fucking careless handling. Aberdeen had to flash-wake her vortex generator to get out.”
Kat winced, inwardly. A general, even a marine general, criticizing a commanding officer from another service was a severe breach of etiquette. Captain Layman would have to be judged by a board of her peers, not by someone who wasn’t versed in the finer points of starship operations. But she couldn’t disagree. Captain Layman had kept her drives and weapons offline and paid a steep price for it. Perhaps she had managed to disengage in time to escape. Or . . . perhaps she was already dead.
We’ll find out, she promised herself.
She looked at Janice. “Does ONI have anything to add?”
Janice looked uncomfortable, but held her ground. “My office hasn’t had a chance to really come to grips with the recordings,” she said. “However, our preliminary assessment is that only three or four of those superdreadnoughts are actually real. Furthermore, they clearly have access to some advanced technology. I’d go so far as to suggest they might have opened up communications with another interstellar power.”
“That would mean war,” Fran said. “They’d have to be insane.”
“They’d just have to be very careful to ensure they had plausible deniability,” Janice corrected. “They won’t have given anything that can be traced straight back to them, just stuff that could be purchased on the black market. There’ll be a line of cutouts between them and the actual source of supplies.”
She shrugged. “That said, they may be using some advanced tech from the war that we never knew existed. There’s a lot we don’t know about enemy R&D.”
Because they didn’t know it themselves, Kat thought, remembering the battleship they’d faced in the Jorlem Sector. They might have designed something game-changing and never realized it.
She cleared her throat. “Best case, Captain Layman managed to land a couple of hits before being blown away,” she said. “Does anyone dispute it?”
Her eyes swept the room. No one answered. Kat nodded to herself. Even one enemy superdreadnought would be more than enough to take the high orbitals and lay waste to the planet below. A handful of antimatter bombs would exterminate the entire population . . . She shuddered. If the remna
nts of the Theocracy had embraced the nihilism that had been part of their faith from the beginning, they were likely to inflict horrendous damage before they were wiped out. She dreaded to think just how many worlds might be condemned to eternal winter if they weren’t rendered completely uninhabitable. A nightmare.
“Very well,” Kat said. She came to a grim resolution. “Commodore, prepare Beta Squadron for departure within one hour. I’ll be taking command personally.”
“Admiral,” Fran said. “I . . .”
“Your place is here,” Winters said at the same time. “Admiral . . .”
“It’s not up for dispute,” Kat said firmly. “I have to see it for myself.”
She kept her feelings hidden behind an expressionless mask. Winters was right, technically. Her place was on Ahura Mazda. But there was nothing she could do on the Theocratic homeworld that Winters and her staff couldn’t do without her. Taking the superdreadnought squadron and rushing to Judd might be a little unprofessional, perhaps even reckless, but the mission would break her out of her funk. Besides, she hadn’t lied. She needed to see what the enemy had done, if only so she’d be able to grasp it.
“Admiral,” Janice said carefully, “it’s highly unlikely the enemy ships will have remained at Judd.”
Kat nodded shortly. “I know,” she said. “But we have to make a show of responding to the threat.”
She tapped the terminal, bringing up the starchart. The vast majority of the liberated worlds were completely defenseless, save for the handful who’d managed to capture Theocratic starships or buy, beg, or borrow starships from the Commonwealth. And there was no way she could afford to position ships at each and every potential target. She simply didn’t have the numbers. The only good news, as far as she could tell, was that the enemy probably weren’t strong enough to run the Gap. They’d have to punch through the fleet covering Cadiz before they could slide into the Commonwealth itself.
Debt of Honor (The Embers of War) Page 10