“At least we’ll arrive in Saffron soon, and I’ll be confronted with actual military matters to take my mind off all this.”
Fesky lowered her bottle to the table. “Hopefully the ‘actual military matters’ don’t happen in the Viburnum System instead, to the munitions facility.”
Grimacing, Husher said, “I’d assumed you brought me here to cheer me up.”
“Captain,” Fesky said. “Speaking as a Winger and as your friend—I have to advise against signing onto this Positive Response Program. It would weaken the bonds of your crew even more than they’ve already been weakened. Crew solidarity isn’t something we should be taking for granted, especially during a time of war.”
“I’m well aware of that, Fesky.”
“Are you?” his friend said, and a tense quiet came between them.
Eventually, Husher drained the rest of his drink and placed the empty glass on the table. “Thanks,” he said, and left the lounge.
After that, he and Fesky mostly avoided each other for the rest of the warp transition, which their conflicting CIC watches made pretty easy. For his part, Husher didn’t know what to say to Fesky. He didn’t know what to say to anyone, these days, not even to himself. The pressures bearing down on him were pushing him in two very different directions—military effectiveness and social acceptability—and he felt like he was failing at both.
Awkwardness aside, when he received the notification that they were about to transition into the Saffron System, he called his entire first watch to the CIC, including Fesky.
There was no way he’d enter a potential engagement situation without her at his side.
Chapter 30
A Ship That Size
Just as starships were forced to use warp departure points that were well outside star systems, they also had to transition back into realspace well outside their destinations. That had as much to do with the threat of debris as it did with the risk of destroying whatever was directly in front of the ship as it exited the warp bubble. Doing so released every particle the bubble had collected during transit simultaneously, in a massive shockwave with the power to obliterate space stations and starships alike, no matter the size.
Some systems simply weren’t accessible via warp drive. The Sol System represented one such—the spherical Oort Cloud meant that transitioning outside it placed a ship a light year or more from meaningful in-system destinations. Luckily, it still had a functioning darkgate. Even though the Ixa had decimated Sol’s population, Husher was glad access to humanity’s home system was still possible, if only for sentimental reasons. Shortly after the Second Galactic War, the IU had begun a terraforming project aimed at rehabilitating Earth, but that would take centuries to come to fruition.
“I just received radar confirmation of the safe arrival of the Thero, the Golgos, the Hylas, and the Lysander, Captain,” said the sensor operator once they’d successfully completed their transition into realspace. “They’re forming up a few light minutes ahead of us.”
“Acknowledged. Coms, transmit orders for them to continue accelerating in formation toward the system’s largest colony. We’ll meet them there. How does Saffron look, Winterton?”
“It looks quiet, sir,” the sensor operator answered, and Husher resisted the urge to check what Kaboh’s reaction to that news would be. “That said, the sensor data we currently have access to is two hours out of date.”
“Thank goodness the system wasn’t attacked as of two hours ago,” Kaboh said. “But we must remain vigilant nevertheless. Our presence could end up meaning everything to the people of Saffron.”
“Kindly limit commentary to our immediate tactical situation,” Husher snapped, irritated by what sounded suspiciously like political posturing, at least to his ears.
“Yes, sir,” Kaboh said crisply.
“Coms, have Commander Ayam stand by to scramble Pythons, just in case.” Husher knew that order lent Kaboh’s words more weight, but he wasn’t about to start putting his personal pride above tactics.
“Yes, sir,” Fry said.
The quiet persisted as the Vesta rode Saffron’s gravity well down-system. As they neared the biggest colony, whose orbit happened to place it closest to the warp transition point the supercarrier had entered through, a transmission came through from the Selene’s captain. The frigate was too far off for real-time communications, but Husher had Fry play the audio and video for his CIC crew to hear.
“Captain Husher,” said Ternon, who was Tumbran—a rarity among IGF warship captains. “Thank you to you and your battle group for coming so quickly. We’ve yet to detect any hostile vessels in-system, but I find it highly unlikely that readings identical to those taken in the Wintercress System would not precede a similar attack.”
“Send a text reply asking him to come closer so we can have a real-time chat about how best to array our forces,” Husher told the Coms officer, not in the mood to record the message himself.
“Yes, sir.”
Winterton sat straighter in his seat, eyes fixated on whatever he saw on the main display. “Sir, an unknown vessel just appeared less than a light minute off our port bow. Its profile doesn’t match that of the warship we encountered in the Wintercress System. The dark-gray coloration is similar, but its shape is that of an almost featureless oblong spheroid, and it’s massive—she rivals the Vesta in size.”
Husher toggled to a visualization of the ship generated by radar, since they were too far for actual visual inspection. Good God. That thing’s twice as big as the Providence was.
“Coms, send a transmission demanding—”
Winterton interrupted: “Sir, the vessel’s hostile. It just began launching missiles identical to those used against us by Teth’s ship. It…the missile barrage isn’t ending, Captain.”
“Full reverse thrust, Helm, now!” Husher said. “Coms, have Commander Ayam scramble the entire Air Group and start targeting down those things. Tactical, set lasers to point defense mode, to supplement our kinetic point defense systems. Standby to load Banshees with guidance directives that prioritize targeting the incoming robots.”
The chief hesitated, glancing at Husher. “Captain?”
“Just do it, Tremaine,” Husher snapped. He blew air through his nostrils, then tried to soften his tone: “I’m just as reluctant to spend Banshees taking down those things as you are, but I’m even less reluctant to let them rip through my hull and infiltrate my ship.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Coms, tell Major Gamble to mobilize his entire marine battalion and get them patrolling the outer corridors in squads. I want two platoons assigned to Cybele and two more divided among the Vesta’s vital systems.”
“Aye, sir.”
His first volley of orders delivered, Husher had his Oculenses show him the Tactical display. Over a hundred of the vicious little robots screamed toward his ship, with more being fired from the enemy vessel.
He scrutinized the display for further action he could take. His battle group had already reached Edessa, and were too far away to lend the Vesta their aid. However…
“Coms, the Selene is close enough to get here within a timeframe meaningful for this engagement. If they pile on enough speed, they can hit the enemy ship from behind and take some of the pressure off. Send Commander Ternon a transmission requesting he do so.”
“Composing the request now, sir.”
The moment the words were out of Fry’s mouth, Winterton’s hands left his console in a gesture of shocked exasperation. “Sir, the enemy warship vanished.”
Damn it. Husher didn’t know what that meant for them, but he doubted it was good. “I want ongoing active scans of the entire system.”
“Yes, sir.”
Husher’s eyes settled on Kaboh, who was facing him, wearing a prim smile. “Is there anything I can do, Captain?” he asked, his satisfaction evident.
Husher had managed to keep his emotions under control as he gave out orders to deal with the immediate threat, b
ut the Kaithian’s smugness helped unleash his temper. “You can reflect on the fact that if a ship that size tried appearing underneath Edessa’s orbital defense platforms, it would doom itself. The planet’s gravity well would drag it from the sky. The system could have defended itself from this attack without our help, Kaboh.”
Chapter 31
Blood on Hands
The tactical display told Husher that when the hostile vessel vanished, it had left two hundred and thirty-nine robots speeding across the void toward the Vesta. The strange ordnance, totally new to Husher’s experience of space warfare, seemed to have guidance systems at least as sophisticated as his Banshees, and so simply steering the supercarrier out of the way wasn’t going to cut it. He had to deal with every last one.
“Coms, contact Commander Ternon and request that he divert his course to Edessa. We don’t know where in the system the enemy ship will appear next, but we do know that its largest colony presents the most valuable target.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Transmit orders to our battle group that they should remain at the colony as well.” Husher squinted at the main display, trying to determine his next move. “Winterton.”
“Sir?”
Husher glanced at the man, surprised he had to actually vocalize what he wanted—but then he saw how intently the sensor operator was studying his console’s readout. “Do I need to have Tremaine start sending Banshees at those things?”
“I think it’s prudent to keep them armed and ready,” Winterton said. “The enemy missiles’ velocity is such that our reverse thrust can’t bring us to parity before impact. That said, it is broadening the window we’ll have to deal with them, and we’ve already cut down the barrage by eighty-three missiles. Eighty-four!” he exclaimed, apparently responding to something he saw on his console. Winterton didn’t get excited very often, and Husher took his optimism as a good sign.
“Very good, Ensign. I’d like you to work together with Tactical to arrive at an estimate of how many of those robots are likely to get through to our hull. If it’s more than five, I’ll give the order to fire Banshees.”
Husher didn’t like the idea of even one reaching his hull—it meant a minor breach and a chance that it would get access to something they couldn’t do without.
That chance was slim, though. Major Gamble’s marines were well-trained and vigilant. They’d find and destroy anything that wormed its way into the Vesta’s corridors well before it found something vital; Husher felt confident about that.
The ship that had launched the barrage showed no sign of reemerging from wherever it had gone, and within twenty minutes, Winterton and Tremaine had determined that none of the enemy missiles were likely to get through.
At that, Husher breathed a quiet sigh of relief. If we’d been facing two of those warships, and they’d been more willing to stick around…
It was a good reminder to keep his battle group at hand whenever possible.
“Sir, contact off our stern,” Winterton said. “It’s the ship that fired the missiles—she’s right behind us. We’re accelerating straight for her.”
“Tactical, do we have enough charge to use our primary laser?”
“Aye, Captain!”
“Use the central aft projector to fire it at the enemy vessel, center-mass. Do it now.”
“Firing laser.”
Winterton gripped his console. “They’re hitting us with a particle beam. Superheating is occurring across a sizable portion of our stern, sir. It’s dangerously close to the left side of our main starboard reactor.”
Fingers clamped around his chair’s armrests, Husher’s gaze locked onto his Helm officer. “Use aft, port lateral thrusters to nudge that reactor away from the superheating. Only ten percent power—we don’t want to endanger the next reactor over.”
“Yes sir,” the Winger said.
“Tactical, let’s take advantage of our acceleration toward the target. Use aft railguns to send kinetic impactors right into the hole we’re drilling with our laser.”
“Yes, sir.”
Winterton turned toward him. “Sir, the superheating is deteriorating our hull at an alarming rate. I—” Frowning, he turned toward the main display. “The target’s vanished again, Captain. The superheating is subsiding.”
“Deploy damage control teams to the affected area and then tell me how bad it is.”
Winterton nodded, already at work typing up the orders, his fingers flying across the keyboard. He must have already composed the phrasing in his head, since he continued to speak fluidly. Either way, Husher was impressed by the multitasking. “Nearly every deck between aft sections forty-nine through sixty was affected,” Winterton said, “and the hull continues to melt. If the damage control teams don’t move fast, there’s a chance the reactor could be affected.”
“Acknowledged. Fry, send orders to Engineering to shut down the main starboard reactor as quickly and safely as possible.”
“Aye.”
Shaking his head to clear it, Husher took a moment to wonder whether this engagement was even over yet. He watched on the tactical display as Tremaine continued to mop up the robots flying through space toward them—an effort the officer hadn’t let himself be distracted from, even when the enemy ship had popped into existence right behind the Vesta.
What an admirable performance. From my entire CIC crew. “Good job, everyone,” he told them. “From how you handled that engagement, no one would ever say you’re a peacetime crew.”
But as he continued to study the tactical display, something began to bother him. “The enemy vessel’s reappearance…it was far from optimally timed. It would have been much more devastating to show up behind us while we were in the thick of dealing with the barrage it sent at us.”
From the XO’s chair beside him, Fesky clacked her beak. “Perhaps it can only appear like that at certain predetermined coordinates, and by accelerating backward we happened to head straight for one.”
“Interesting,” Husher said. “That would be hard to time properly, unless the enemy somehow had ongoing knowledge of the battlespace from wherever it disappeared to. But maybe that explains the random blips picked up by the sensor webs leading up to these engagements. That could be the enemy mapping the system, figuring out the points where it’s able to pop back in. I’ll be interested in having a look at the sensor web data from the engagement, to see whether it continued to see any blips. That would corroborate your theory, Fesky—the enemy would need to pop back in to check on our position and coordinate the surprise it had planned for us.”
“The thing I’m most curious about,” Tremaine said as he eyed Kaboh, “is where Teth is. We didn’t face him here, so where the hell is he?”
Husher felt pretty sure the answer to Tremaine’s question was on the tip of every CIC officer’s tongue: Teth was probably in the Viburnum System.
And if that’s true, the blood is on my hands just as much as it’s on Kaboh’s.
Chapter 32
Morality of War
After they finished mopping up the remaining missiles, Husher ordered Kaboh to set a course for Edessa, where he planned to have his battle group hold orbit until he was satisfied the hostile vessel wouldn’t return.
By the time they arrived over the planet, the enemy still hadn’t shown any sign of making a second attempt on them, and so Husher felt comfortable letting second watch take over.
He was halfway to his quarters for a much-needed nap when his com buzzed, and he made the mistake of looking at it.
It was Mayor Dylan Chancey, requesting a private meeting in his office.
Cursing under his breath, Husher decided not to bother changing. Instead, he headed straight for the hatch that led to the city. He also didn’t bother telling anyone where he was going, since they’d probably insist on arranging a marine escort, given the recent unrest. Walking around his own ship with an armed escort was something he still refused to do, and besides, he didn’t feel like sitt
ing around and twiddling his thumbs while one was put together.
It seemed the protesters were taking a break today, as no one awaited him with signs and air horns, either in the desert or in the city streets. Maybe they’re all just too busy sitting at home, signing petitions and typing inflammatory social posts.
It took ten minutes for Husher to get through city hall’s security checkpoints, since the mayor’s office was fairly close to the circular council chamber at the center.
Chancey was sitting at his desk when Husher entered, his back to the convex wall of the building’s curve, staring into space as he typed something on a datapad. Apparently the door’s opening hadn’t clued the mayor in to Husher’s presence, so he cleared his throat.
“Ah,” Chancey said, his gaze settling on Husher at last. “Captain. Please, have a seat.”
Husher did, lowering himself into a leather chair with smooth, metal armrests. He folded his hands in his lap and stared at the mayor.
“You’re no doubt wondering why I asked you here,” Chancey said.
“Whatever it is, I’m guessing I won’t enjoy the experience.”
“Oh?” Chancey steepled his fingers, regarding Husher over their tips. “Why do you say that?”
“Because whenever I visit Cybele, lately, I leave with more limitations that I need to observe, which reduce both my effectiveness and that of my crew.”
“Alas,” Chancey said, and his smile looked genuinely sympathetic. “That goes part and parcel with living in modern civilization, doesn’t it? To move things forward, everyone needs to be able to live and work together with minimal friction, and that means suppressing certain whims and urges.”
“I’m not talking about whims. I’m talking about defeating the enemy as efficiently as possible while minimizing casualties, and that includes civilian casualties. We need to follow a morality of war right now, because that’s what we’re in. You told me you didn’t want to stand between me and doing my job, but that’s all you’ve done.”
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