“One very fast Uke raider impervious to spikes,” Dawson said as he sat a steaming pot of gentea on the table with three mugs.
Heavy creases folded along Dimitri’s face as he frowned. “That’s jumping to conclusions, isn’t it, Mister?”
“Dit!” Pajandcan said sharply. “I warned you not to –“
“Apologies,” Dimitri said, holding up his hand. “I meant no offense to Admiral Dawson. I call everyone mister.”
Dawson poured them each a mug of tea before he sat down. “No apologies necessary. In fact, I’m far more used to being called mister than admiral. But to answer your question, I don’t think we’re jumping to conclusions. Rochmon and his Cryptography people have been warning us since I got here that the Ukes were about to send out a new model hunk – one faster and tougher than anything either side ever had before.”
“What’s the latest update on it?” Pajandcan asked.
“Not much beyond what we heard before, except that they now estimate it can go from a dead stop to subspace velocities in just short of three hours.”
Dimitri whistled softly. “That’s twicet as fast as anything we have can do it. How in bent space do they manage that?”
“We’ll probably have to capture one to find that out, Dit,” Pajandcan said, “but you can bet your whistle that their dampers are more than ‘twicet’ as big as ours, too.”
“As small as Zephyr reported the Uke to be, they must have turned the whole ship into part of the damping mechanism.”
Pajandcan took a long sip of her tea. “You could be right, Dawson. Might send that thought back to Nordeen with your report. In the meantime, I think we need to alert all commanders about this type ship and –“ Suddenly she realized she had completely overlooked something.
“What is it, Admiral?”
Rubbing her mug with both hands Pajandcan wasn’t quite sure. “Dawson, didn’t you say that when Zephyr spotted the Uke it was sitting dead in space?”
“Not exactly. Zephyr first picked it up as it decelerated, but by the time Zephyr and the other cruisers began their approach it was sitting still. Why?”
“Because,” Dimitri said before Pajandcan could answer, “that’s a tactic we’ve never seen before.”
“Right on the credits, Dit!” Pajandcan shook her head.
“How do you like that?”
“Surely you don’t think that the Ukes –“
“Oh, but I do, Dawson. Like a flipper in space, I believe in the unexpected. I think the Ukes have decided to sit these new hunks of theirs on the edges of our shipping lanes and use us for a shooting gallery.”
Dimitri whistled again. Dawson’s face slowly twisted into a dark grimace.
“Makes sense, doesn’t it?” Pajandcan asked.
“With a hunk that fast, sure it does,” Dimitri said, “but suppose it stopped for some other reason?”
“I think Admiral Pajandcan is right – so damned right it scares me, Dimitri.” Dawson drank his still steaming gentea in three quick swallows, then reached for the pot. “And I think we don’t have enough ships to do anything about it.”
“We never have enough ships,” Dimitri said, “and probably never will. So what’s new? We plan for new Uke hunks and keep going like we always do.”
Pajandcan smiled grimly. “All right. Dimitri, put your staff to work on a plan that will give us maximum possibility of dealing with these hunks. Then coordinate that plan with Admiral Dawson. Tell your people I want detailed proposals in sixty hours and not a minute later.”
“Can do,” Dimitri said with a brief smile.
“What about the freighters?” Dawson asked.
“That brings us to another problem,” Pajandcan said. “Not only do we have to worry about our incoming freighters, but we also have to devise a way to continue unofficially shipping supplies to Sutton.”
“You got General Mari’s message then?”
“I did. And we’re going to do our best to give him what he needs. But with this new problem –“
“Pardon me, Admiral, but what message? And where is General Mari? We were told he was dead.”
“No, Dit. Mari’s anything but dead. His Planetary Troops and assorted militia are skinning the Ukes one by one on Sutton. Got a message out to us on the last freight run telling us what he needs, and I aim to see that he gets it.”
“Should have gotten himself out,” Dimitri said. “Member of the Joint Chiefs has no business being in the middle –“
“He volunteered for that job – at least that’s what Admiral Gilbert told me. I suspect they’ll have to carry him out in a utility sling before he’ll come out on his own.”
They both smiled, but Pajandcan couldn’t join them. The thought of what Mari was up against robbed her of even a little grim humor at that moment. “So,” she said slowly, “in addition to everything else, we have to come up with some realistic solutions for supplying Mari. But don’t forget that the Joint Chiefs have written Sutton off as an eventual loss, so we still have to keep our actions unofficial. Any suggestions?”
“Don’t look at me,” Dimitri said. “I may have some people on my staff who can come up with some ideas for you, but what I know about logistics you could paint on your eyeballs without ruining your vision.”
Dawson looked at both of them. “I don’t know, Admiral. We’ve been using small lightspeed freighters and they’ve gotten in all right, but none of them can haul much in one trip.”
“And you don’t think it would be wise to use anything larger than those?”
“Don’t have them to spare. But even if we did, I’d say it would be a lot more difficult sneaking them in.”
“What about that report from Warrant Officer Caffey? Didn’t she say that the Ukes kept most of their ships near Sutton’s north pole?” Suppose we used a south polar –“
“Suppose we attack their ships,” Dimitri said suddenly.
“That’s insane,” Dawson said. “We barely have –“
“With what?” Pajandcan was immediately intrigued with the idea of an offensive operation. The victory at Matthews had been good, but Sondak needed more. “A launchship?”
“Why not, Admiral? If the Ukes are so sure of themselves as to bunch their ships, they can’t be expecting us to counterattack. With the Sherrell and two hundred of the Messerole-class long-range fighters we could –“
“That’s more than half the Messeroles we have left, Dit.”
“No balls, no glory, Admiral.” Suddenly Dimitri looked at her and flushed. “Sorry about that.”
Pajandcan laughed. “Don’t be. I think this void-brained scheme of yours just might have some merit. Wow. Wouldn’t that give the Ukes a shock?”
“We’d be stripping our defenses, Admiral. Our orders are –“
“I’m fully aware of our orders, Dawson. But I’m also aware that Nordeen is halfway across the galaxy from here and Sutton’s damned near right next door. And they need our help. Besides, if we can burn the Ukes there, we just might delay any attack they have planned for Satterfield and Bakke.” She leaned back and smiled. “So you could say that this was just a part of our extended defense perimeter.”
“I’d like to see you convince the Joint Chiefs of that one,” Dimitri said. “They’d skin you alive.”
“They might,” Pajandcan said quickly, “But Gilbert wouldn’t. He’d understand. Now that the Combined Fleets are under his command, he might even be willing to lend us some help.”
Dawson shook his head. “I hate to say this, Admiral, but since I got forced into this position, more or less, I don’t have anything to lose. You take POLFLEET’s biggest launchship and most of her long-range fighters to attack Sutton, and I quit.”
Pajandcan grinned. “You can’t, Dawson. It’s too late. The new promotion list is out. I have been promoted to Fleet Admiral, and you and Dit have both been promoted to Post Admiral. No one is going to let a Post Admiral quit – especially when he’s no longer an ‘acting’ admiral.”
“Ain’t war a pain?” Dimitri grinned.
“It’s a long walk back to the Gyle Coalition,” Pajandcan said, looking at Dawson and knowing he wouldn’t quit. “Might as well stay here and have some fun.” She held up her mug. “To the new admirals,” she said.
Dimitri immediately raised his mug with hers. “To the new admirals.”
Dawson stared at them both, then finally shook his head with a rueful smile. “To the new admirals,” he said, “and to the attack on the Ukes at Sutton.”
* * * *
Marsha dared not guess how her father would react if he ever found out what she had done. The house was quiet as she sat in his private communications room knowing this was probably the greatest risk she had ever taken. But if her plan succeeded, she would fill the hollowness inside her. That reward would justify the risk.
She had to make contact with Lucky and find a way for them to meet somewhere. Her promises to stay – promises she had made to herself and her father – no longer mattered. There wasn’t enough father left in Commander Frye Charltos for it to matter.
It had taken a great deal of soul-searching for her to admit that coming back to the U.C.S. had ultimately been wrong. The depth of her love for Lucky might never have been so clear to her if she hadn’t come back to her father. But now all she wanted to do was get away from him, and the U.C.S., and the war, and back to the one person in the galaxy who loved her as much as she loved him.
With a quick flick of her wrist she sent the message on its way to Oina accompanied by a silent prayer. Leaning back in her chair in the dimly lit room, she was afraid to think beyond finding Lucky again. She was afraid to think he might not be on Oina, and more afraid to think he might not answer her message or want her back.
“Transmission complete,” the transceiver said in its quiet mechanical voice.
“What transmission?”
Marsha spun around and saw her father standing in the darkened doorway. Panic hit her in the solar plexus and made her gasp. The worst had happened. There wasn’t time to erase the transceiver’s memory.
“I asked you a question,” Frye said calmly. The look on her face told him more than he wanted to know. “What unauthorized transmission did you just complete?”
“I, uh…I can explain.”
Frye took the few short steps to her and stared down at his daughter. “You can show me the message.” He tried to keep the anger out of his voice.
Sliding her chair away from him, Marsha stood up. There was nothing she could do to protect what she had done, but she wasn’t going to show him. “Get it yourself,” she said.
Frye was startled by the emotion in her voice. Part fear, part defiance, she seemed to be challenging him. “All right,” he said turning away from her and bending down to reach for the recall button. Before he touched it, something made him stop, and he looked up at her face less than a meter away. Her expression showed an anguish he didn’t understand, but perhaps this was another chance for them.
Marsha trembled as her father turned back to the transceiver, and with quick, practiced motions entered the control sequence. Then he stood up and stared at her with the faintest of smiles on his face.
“Memory clear,” the transceiver said moments later.
Frye fought the smile. “There,” he said simply.
Marsha’s jaw dropped open. She couldn’t believe her ears. He erased it, she thought. But why? Slowly she pulled her mouth closed. “Why?” she asked finally.
“Because it was none of my business,” Frye lied, “and you obviously did not want me to know about it. Now I have made it impossible for me to know.”
“Unless I tell you,” Marsha said slowly.
Again she surprised him. “Why should you do that?”
“I shouldn’t. It would only…only make you angry.” Even as she spoke she wanted to tell him and couldn’t understand the impulse. It was crazy. It would serve no purpose.
Frye turned away and walked back to the doorway. He had a good idea of whom she had sent her message to – that Sondak trader she claimed to love. “I trust you Marsha,” he said over his shoulder. “You do not have to tell me anything you do not want to.” Before she could respond, he closed the door and left her alone in the room.
Marsha wrapped her arms around herself in confusion. The more she had tried to understand her father, the more difficult it had become. Why had he erased the message? Did he really trust her? Or had he guessed who she sent it to?
That must be it, she thought. Who else would I be sending a message to? With a sigh she left the communications room and headed back to her own, thoughts of her father replaced by thoughts of Lucky.
Frye waited patiently until he was sure Marsha was in her room and asleep. Then he went back to the communications room and began seeking information. It only took a minute to retrieve the transceiver’s backup copy of Marsha’s message. What he read did not surprise him, but it did hurt. If Marsha had given up on her relationship, why did he feel so compelled to keep working at it?
For Vinita, a voice in the back of his brain said. Frye nodded automatically. For the memory of Vinita he would throw all of the U.C.S. forces against Sondak. For the memory of Vinita he would pay whatever it cost to win this war. For the memory of Vinita he wanted Marsha by his side when victory came, and he would do anything within reason to keep her there – but only within reason. He could not let his problems with her distract him from the critical tasks that lay ahead.
11
HENLEY STRUGGLED TO FREE his restraining straps as the gravity aboard the Lifeline fell to zero. This was the part of space travel he hated the most. In a few minutes he would be floating in his tiny cabin with a bag over his face to catch the contents of his stomach. It never failed. Every time he traveled, the first thing he did when they hit zero-g was vomit.
With awkward motions born of just enough practice to make him overconfident, he released the bag and got his face into it. Several seconds later his stomach started to empty itself. Much to his dismay as he braced against the second wave of spasms, someone knocked on his door.
“Henley? May I come in?”
The sound he made was not a civil answer to Mica Gilbert’s request. His body bounced softly against the bulkhead and he let himself do a slow spin toward the mattress. If she would wait a minute or two, he would be all right.
She didn’t wait. The door slid back and there she floated, upside down and backward. His stomach rolled over one more time, spraying the one last charge of detritus into his sickness bag.
“Can I help you?” Mica asked as she floated to his side. She was surprised by his space sickness, and felt suddenly concerned about him.
Henley shook his head and turned away from her. Pulling the absorbent flaps of the bag tightly against his face, he managed to wipe most of the mess off. “Go away,” he said weakly.
“Didn’t you take your pill?”
“Go away,” he repeated. He could still feel wet bits and pieces sticking to his face.
Mica ignored his order and opened the tiny space toilet under his bunk. With the greatest of care she dampened a cloth and held it in front of his face. “Give me the bag, and use this. It will make you feel better.”
Reluctantly he did as he was told. If she was willing to cope with the bag, he was ready to give it up. The very smell of it made him want to vomit again.
“Now,” she said after he wiped his face, “Let me strap you back in again.”
“No!” Henley clutched a handhold and pulled his back against the bulkhead so he could look directly at her. “I am sorry, Captain, but the best thing for me now is to move around. Believe me. I’ve had a lot of practice at this.”
“You mean…” Mica let the sentence trail off. You poor man, she thought.
“I mean it happens every time,” he said wiping his face again. “I’ve never gotten used to the first fee
lings of zero-g. If you will just move out of my way –“
“Please, Henley, if you have move around as you say, then let me assist you.”
Henley was in no mood to argue with her, and besides, he thought with a sad, inward chuckle, it’s been a long time since an attractive woman wanted to take care of me. “As you wish, Captain, but first let me finish cleaning up.”
“Certainly. I’ll wait outside.” Mica did a quick turn and hit the door closed as she exited his cabin. There was something about seeing him sick that touched her. That’s a problem she thought, as she drifted lazily in the companionway with one hand holding her in place. This old man’s creeping up on me and I don’t like it. She knew that was a stupid thought, but it wouldn’t go away. Henley Stanmorton isn’t doing anything to me. I’m doing it to myself. But what am I doing? What is it about him that makes me feel so necessary and competent? His door slid silently open before she could come up with an answer for herself.
“If you are still willing, Captain, I’m ready to go,” Henley said as he pulled himself into the companionway. “But, please let me set the pace. I’ll be a little shaky for a few minutes, but if we go slowly at first, I’ll do just fine.”
Suddenly Mica laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Me, Henley,” she said with the smile still brightening her face. “I offered to help you, but now I’m not quite sure of what to do.”
“Hold this,” he said, holding out a new sickness bag. “If I need it, you’ll know exactly what to do.” He paused as she took the bag and was disconcerted by the look in her eyes. It wasn’t pity or sympathy he saw there, yet he didn’t know what it was. “Does this crate have a lounge of some sort?”
Mica saw the quizzical look on his face, but suspected it had nothing to do with the lounge. “This ‘crate’ has an officers wardroom, Mr. Stanmorton, but I think they’ll let you in.”
It was Henley’s turn to laugh. “I’d forgotten for a moment,” he said. “How does my uniform look?”
She eyed him carefully, as though conducting an inspection. “Not as sharp as it could, but not bad for a new Chief Warrant Officer.” Actually, for a man who had just been sick to his stomach, he looked very good. There was even a little color in his cheeks that she approved of.
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