“And their votes are practically meaningless,” Kat said. She’d done her best to ignore politics as much as possible, but serving with William had left her with a new appreciation of just how badly the system had failed the colonies. “And that isn’t going to change in a hurry.”
“No,” the king agreed. “And, as long as they make it difficult to ennoble colonials, it isn’t going to get any better.”
William’s a knight, Kat thought. But he had a few unfair advantages over his fellows.
She took a long breath. “I don’t want to be rude, Your Majesty, but I do have a great deal of work to do.”
The king smiled. “You’re bored stiff behind a desk, Kat,” he said. “That’s why you went gallivanting off to hunt pirates.”
“Yes,” Kat said flatly.
“Your old friend Justin Deveron made a big song and dance about it last night,” the king said. “He was quite insistent that things would have been different if you’d remained on Ahura Mazda. I’m surprised your brother didn’t have his bosses sued for slander. He really did push the line.”
“Peter has always been unconcerned about what people say about him,” Kat said. It was admirable, she supposed. Justin Deveron was a gnat. No one who knew anything about naval realities would believe that Kat could have done something if she’d stayed on Ahura Mazda. The Theocrats had vanished back into hyperspace long before any reinforcements had arrived. “And I don’t care what Deveron says.”
“There are others who do care,” the king said. “He did have quite a reputation, once upon a time.”
He made a dismissive gesture. “Right now, I want you to carry on and not worry about withdrawal,” he added. “Plan on the assumption that the Commonwealth will remain engaged for the foreseeable future. I’m doing everything in my power to stall the vote until I have enough backers to defeat it. And . . . we need a victory.”
“I understand,” Kat said. She wasn’t sure what to make of what was happening on Tyre. “I wish I could guarantee a victory.”
“I wish you could too,” the king told her. “Do everything in your power to make one happen.” He paused. “We knew there would be . . . problems . . . in the aftermath of the war,” he added. “But these are the problems of victory! They are not having such a good time.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Kat said.
The king saluted, then closed the connection. Kat leaned back in her chair, feeling unsure of herself. Technically, she hadn’t been given any orders to withdraw; practically, Parliament might expect her to see which way the political winds were blowing. And that might leave her trapped between King Hadrian, who appeared to be the only one actually trying to deal with the situation, and Parliament. And her family.
“Crap,” she muttered.
She stood and walked over to the window. General Winters had been right. There were hundreds of thousands of people who had placed their lives in her hands. They could not be abandoned, whatever it took. It was a debt of honor. She had no intention of refusing to pay.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
* * *
ASHER DALES
“They’re doing better than I expected,” William said as Tanya and he watched the trainees slowly making their way through the captured hulk. “But don’t tell them that, please.”
Tanya glanced at him, sharply. “Why not?”
William grinned at her, then returned his attention to the monitors. “They cannot be allowed to think that they’ll be praised for every little thing,” he said. “That leads to overconfidence, and overconfidence leads to disaster. I really don’t want to lose a trainee so soon.”
“I see, I think,” Tanya said. “I was never told that when I was in law school.”
“If you make a mistake as a lawyer, it can be fixed,” William reminded her. “Here . . . if someone makes a mistake, the consequences can be fatal. And there’s no way to remove the risk completely without ruining the training.”
He shrugged expressively. There was no way they could duplicate the extensive facilities and concealed safety precautions of Piker’s Peak. And even the Royal Navy’s officer training center lost cadets from time to time. William had read some of the reports, during his bid to become a mustang. Some cadets had done stupid things, making the sort of mistakes that William found hard to believe; others, more tragically, had done everything right and still died during training. It was only a matter of time before Asher Dales lost its first trainee in an accident. He wondered, morbidly, just how the planetary government would cope when the recriminations began.
Probably very well, he thought. They know that life isn’t safe.
He turned away from the display as the trainees completed their exercise and returned to their makeshift barracks. They were doing well, for young men who’d only been in space for the last two weeks; they had a long way to go, but the raw material was definitely there. It helped that they were colonials, he told himself firmly. Colonials understood that the universe was red in tooth and claw, something that civilians on more developed planets tended to forget. They also understood that accidents happened.
“I read the latest news from Tyre,” Tanya said. “Is it true we’re getting one final investment?”
William had his doubts. “I wouldn’t take anything for granted,” he said. “The investment will be intended to allow you to purchase supplies from Tyre, not . . . They won’t want to just give you the money and let you do what you want with it.”
“And then we’d have to get whatever we purchased here,” Tanya said. “That won’t be easy either.”
“True,” William agreed. He’d been doing his best to follow the developing political situation, but it was impossible to tell which way the Commonwealth would jump. He hadn’t seen so much vitriol in media broadcasts and private blogs since . . . ever. The tensions that had been a part of the Commonwealth since its founding were coming into the open, while politicians were gleefully throwing gas on the fire. “We may have to wait and see what happens.”
His wristcom bleeped. “Captain, long-range sensors are picking up two starships dropping out of hyperspace,” Patti said. “Warbook calls them midsized cruisers. No IFF. They’ll be in engagement range in ten minutes.”
William felt his blood run cold. “Activate Plan Omega, then alert the planetary government,” he ordered. The intruders were almost certainly unfriendly. Anyone who wanted to open peaceful discussions about trade or political alliances would be broadcasting an IFF code. It was basic good manners. “I’m on my way.”
He glanced at Tanya. “Do you want to get back to the planet?”
Tanya shook her head. “There’s no point in going back,” she said. “I might not get down to the surface before they start throwing rocks at us.”
William smiled. “Then come with me,” he said. “And don’t touch anything.”
He led the way to the bridge, silently noting how well his crew moved to battlestations. The drills and engagements had definitely paid off. They could have passed for a Royal Navy crew from the war . . . hell, they had served in the Royal Navy during the war. He reminded himself, once again, to ensure that the trainees learned from the older hands. It was easy to slip into bad habits once one passed through basic training if one didn’t have proper supervision.
Two red icons glowed on the display as he entered the bridge, both cruisers. It was impossible to be sure, but he’d bet half his salary they were Theocrats. Pirates were rarely so bold unless they were entirely sure their targets couldn’t put up a fight. And besides, Kat Falcone had smashed the local pirate base to rubble. It would be a long time before the pirates managed to recover, if they ever did. The Commonwealth would be withdrawing—William was sure withdrawal was coming—but hopefully the sector would be able to put up a defense. Even a handful of destroyers on patrol would be able to keep a lid on piracy.
“Nonstandard ships, definitely,” Patti said as William waved Tanya to an unoccupied console. He was careful to lock it out, just i
n case she touched a button by accident. “But they’re built on Theocratic hulls.”
“Theocrats, then,” William noted. This time, they were in for a real fight. Two cruisers would definitely be able to wipe out his entire squadron. Their vectors showed they were spoiling for a fight too. “Establish a laser link to Trojan One.”
“Aye, Captain,” Patti said. “But the time delay . . .”
“We’ll have to deal with it,” William cut her off. It would be neat if the techs came up with a way to communicate in real time across interplanetary distances, but he wasn’t going to hold his breath. Mobile StarComs were hideously expensive and, so far, no one had managed to slim one down enough to cram it into a superdreadnought. “Order the remainder of the fleet to form up on the flag.”
“Aye, Captain.”
William sat back in his chair, wondering just how much the Theocrats knew about what had happened to their missing ship, or for that matter, to the pirates. They’d given him very little room to maneuver, deliberately or otherwise; he rather suspected they were hoping for a clear shot at his ships before they turned and fled. They certainly weren’t acting as though they suspected a trap. A lone superdreadnought would be more than enough to kick their ass.
Which would be nice, if we had a superdreadnought, William thought. He checked his console. An alert had gone out, of course, but it would be hours at best before reinforcements arrived. We’ll just have to make do without one.
“Signal from the planet, sir,” the communications officer said. “They’re going dark.”
“Good,” William said. Asher Dales had dispersed a lot of its population and industrial base, but he was grimly aware that the Theocrats could render the entire planet uninhabitable fairly easily. Merely shoving asteroids towards the planet, after they’d smashed his squadron, would be more than enough. “Let us hope they restrict themselves to tactical bombardment.”
He felt Tanya’s eyes boring into the back of his head as the enemy ships converged on his position. She probably thought he could blow the Theocrats away with a snap of his fingers, but . . . the defenders were heavily outgunned. The missile ranges were closing rapidly too, although the enemy had yet to open fire. He wondered, wryly, if their reluctance to try to overwhelm his point defense owed something to the vast number of missiles they’d expended at Maxwell’s Haven. He’d read the reports very carefully, followed by the analysis. It was impossible to be sure, of course, but it was hard to imagine the Theocrats replacing their lost missiles in a hurry. They might indeed have hit their high-water mark.
“Enemy ships are locking weapons on us,” Patti said. Her voice was cool, professional. “They’re preparing to fire.”
“On my command, execute beta-one,” William said. “Try to make it look like we’re panicking.”
His mind raced. Had the Theocrats seen the hulk? The captured ship wouldn’t be easy to spot, not until they got closer. But they could easily have probed the system under cloak before mounting an overt attack. His sensor crews were good, but he had no illusions. There was no way they could spot a cloaked ship that kept its distance until it was too late. Asher Dales simply could not afford anything like the vast network of scansats that protected Tyre. The planet barely had complete coverage of the high orbitals.
He wondered, coldly, what his opponent was thinking. Was he facing a cool professional or a fanatic? William wouldn’t have allowed the latter to take command of a starship, but the Theocracy had different ideas. And besides, he’d seen enough interrogation records to know that a cool professional was watched at all times. A captain who appeared to be insufficiently aggressive might end up being shot in the back by his own crew.
“Their missile sensors are going active,” Patti added. “Sir?”
“Execute beta-one,” William ordered. “Pull us back . . . now.”
He smiled as the display sparkled with red icons. The enemy missiles wouldn’t burn out before they reached his ships, but they were going to have a difficult time of it. They hadn’t expended their external racks either, he saw. The chances were good they didn’t have external racks. Perhaps the enemy had redeployed ships after the attack on Maxwell’s Haven. They might not have had time to go back to their base and replace their external racks.
Or maybe they’re just very cautious about expending their remaining missiles, William thought as his squadron kept pulling back. If they were lucky—if they were very lucky—the enemy missiles wouldn’t be able to go into sprint mode for the last few seconds. It wouldn’t make them that much less dangerous, but it would buy his ships some extra time. Let us hope they don’t decide to give up on us and start bombarding the planet.
“Deploy drones,” he ordered. “Lure as many of the enemy missiles off-target as possible.”
“Aye, sir.”
“And stand by the missile pods,” William added. “Prepare to fire on my command.”
He felt his expression darken as the engagement developed. The enemy missiles were dumb—too dumb. They didn’t seem to be falling for the decoys. It looked as though the enemy ships had given them their targeting data upon launch, instead of allowing the seeker heads to constantly update themselves. It was wasteful, but William had to admit it had paid off for them. They weren’t going to expend their missiles on harmless drones.
“Point defense is engaging now,” Patti said.
“Fire the missile pods, then run the deception program,” William ordered.
The display updated, again, as the missile pods went active and opened fire. A stream of missiles appeared on the display, blazing towards the enemy ships. The ECM went active seconds later, trying to convince the enemy ships that there were more missile pods lurking behind the real ones. An illusion, but one that would be very difficult to disprove. If the Theocrats were being genuinely sensitive to losses, they wouldn’t want to risk going into engagement range.
Of course, they could just spit ballistic projectiles at the pods from beyond engagement range, William thought. It was a classic technique, one that predated hyperspace and interstellar settlement. But they have to think that reinforcements are already on the way.
Dandelion rocked, sharply. “Direct hit, nuclear warhead,” Patti snapped. A second impact ran through the hull. “Shields failing!”
“Rotate us,” William snapped. “Keep the strongest shield towards the enemy . . .”
“Primrose is gone,” Patti said. “Lily has taken heavy damage.”
Shit, William thought. Behind him, he heard Tanya gasp. Captain Descartes was dead and, judging from the display, hadn’t had any time to order his crew to abandon ship. A quarter of William’s mobile firepower was now nothing more than free-floating atoms drifting in space. They could still win this.
He watched the enemy ships, noting sourly how their point defense systems had improved over the last year or so. Whoever was in command was no slouch. He’d drilled his crews relentlessly, probably pitting them against simulated missiles with twice the speed and hitting power of anything they were likely to encounter. The Royal Navy did the same, ensuring that real engagements were easier. They’d been lucky, he supposed, that the enemy commander hadn’t held a higher post during the war.
“We damaged one of the ships,” Patti said. “But I don’t believe the damage was serious.”
William nodded, slowly. The enemy ships hadn’t lost their shields. They certainly weren’t leaking atmosphere or superheated plasma. The only good news, as far as he could tell, was that they weren’t showing an eagerness to press matters any further. They might well be reluctant to risk exposing themselves to the remaining missile pods. But the pods were nothing more than illusions . . .
“Order Trojan One to go active in five minutes,” William ordered. “They’re to advance towards the enemy at their best possible speed.”
“Aye, sir,” Patti said. Her console bleeped an alarm. “Sir! They’re opening fire!”
“Return fire,” William ordered. The enemy were trying to
swat the destroyers before battling the planetary defenses. He considered, briefly, moving back to the high orbitals, before dismissing the concept. Encouraging the enemy to test the defenses was not a good idea. “A long-range duel works in our favor.”
As long as one of their missiles doesn’t get past us and hit the planet, he added silently. That could be devastating.
He wondered, idly, just what was going through his counterpart’s head. The opportunity to smash the remaining destroyers could not be missed, but they were dangerously exposed. A single battlecruiser would be more than enough to take out both cruisers, and the enemy CO had to assume that reinforcements were on the way. William was surprised they’d made no attempt to take out the StarCom. The old interstellar agreements not to destroy StarComs or interfere with navigational systems presumably no longer bothered the Theocrats. They were little more than terrorists now, and they knew it.
“Trojan One is going active . . . now,” Patti reported. A spike of energy appeared on the display, followed by two superdreadnoughts. “They’re shaping an intercept course towards the enemy.”
And let’s hope they believe the superdreadnoughts are real too, William thought. If they decide to exchange fire with drones . . . it might start them wondering what else could be an illusion.
The enemy ships seemed to flinch, just for a second, before altering course to widen the range between the superdreadnoughts and themselves. William had no doubt that the cruisers could outrun the superdreadnoughts, if they wished to do so. Even the most advanced superdreadnought in the galaxy couldn’t match a light cruiser’s acceleration curve. But . . . but what would they do? Would they assume they’d run into a trap? Or had a simple dose of bad luck? Or . . . would they think they might have been tricked?
Debt of Honor (The Embers of War) Page 31