Mack called up a small display of nearby space and pointed to one of the stars beyond Pele Star System. “Some relatives of mine were among those sent by the Syndicate to colonize this star system. All my family ever knew was that they stopped getting messages back. The Syndicate never told anyone anything.”
“What had happened was inconvenient for the Syndicate to admit to,” Rogero said, “so the Syndicate just rewrote history again and wrote that part out of it.”
“But now I’ve got some idea what happened.” Mack gazed at the display, his face grim. “They never got anybody back?”
“No. Not once the enigmas had taken a place. Not until we pulled those three soldiers off Iwa. Every place the enigmas have taken they have eliminated every trace of humans once being there.”
“My people are long gone, then. No descendants to try to contact.” Mack gave Rogero a determined look. “We’ll get you to Iwa and get you and your ground forces down to that planet. Take a piece out of those enigmas, for my family, all right?”
“We’ll do our best,” Rogero promised.
* * *
ONE week later, the expedition to Iwa was ready to depart.
It was the largest force Midway Star System had ever assembled. Small by the standards of the immense war with the Alliance that had ended not long ago, or by comparison to the fleet that Black Jack had brought through Midway more than once, the flotilla was nonetheless impressive when measured against the forces now operating in this region of space that had once been firmly under control of the rebellion-wracked Syndicate Worlds.
The flotilla resembled a school of disparate predatory sea creatures moving in unison. Instead of the standard Syndicate box formation, Marphissa had arranged the flotilla in a flattened sphere. In the center were the whalelike shapes of the two troop transports. Just above them moved the battleship Midway, even larger than the transports, shaped like an immense, fat shark. Ahead of and below the transports the battle cruiser Pele swam through space, also sharklike but leaner and more lithe than the battleship. Ranked behind the largest ships were the two heavy cruisers, Basilisk and Kraken, dwarfed by the battle cruiser and battleship but still lethal-looking as they protected the rear of the flotilla.
Three light cruisers ranged ahead like barracudas, small by comparison to the major warships but long and slender and dangerous-looking. Ranged all around the formation were seven Hunter-Killers, sized and shaped like deadly young offspring of the light cruisers.
President Gwen Iceni sat in the fleet command seat on the bridge of Midway, smiling as she viewed the spectacle on her display. “I have been part of Syndicate flotillas much larger than this,” she commented to Kapitan Mercia, “but I have never been as impressed as I am by these warships.”
She looked around the bridge. “I haven’t been back here since we captured this ship from the Syndicate at Kane. Have you been told of Kapitan Kontos’s stand inside the bridge citadel on this ship?”
“I have heard of it,” Mercia said. “Not from Kontos himself. He dismissed that action as not worth discussing.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. It was an heroic stand, the sort of thing anyone could boast about, but Kontos seems to have no ego. I didn’t think that was possible in a man.” Iceni ran her right hand down the arm of her seat. “I have been very fortunate in the quality of those men and women who have chosen to accept my orders.”
“Good fortune had little to do with it,” Mercia said. “We follow you because you have given us all good reason to do so. I cannot believe that Imallye’s commanders are so well-motivated.”
“I wish we knew more about them,” Iceni said. “We have agents out, but the distances and the time lags are such that we have heard little back from any of the agents in the short time we had before having to act.” She rested her elbows on the arms of her seat, clasping her hands together and placing her chin on them as she gazed at her display. “We did get a report from Moorea that came by a roundabout means. Apparently, Imallye isn’t instituting any big changes where she takes control. She just changes the titles. Her representative is installed as star system CEO in all but name and uses the existing Syndicate infrastructure.”
“I can see that working in the short term,” Mercia said. “The citizens would be waiting to see if anything changed for them. But once they figure out that it’s the same game with different bosses, and without the entire Syndicate backing those bosses, they’ll push back. You know how they can do that.”
“Oh, yes, I know how they can do that,” Iceni agreed, smiling crookedly. “Theft, slowdowns, diversions, so-called mistakes, so-called accidents, and many more tricks and games. The citizens can make the system grind almost to a halt without ever overtly going on strike.” She looked over at Mercia. “That’s one thing the Syndicate succeeded at. Teaching workers how to sabotage a system in ways that can’t be pinpointed or proven.”
“Those of us who realized that always knew the importance of respecting our workers,” Mercia commented. “But we always seemed to be working for idiots who thought threats and punishment would fix any problem.”
“We’ve come such a long way,” Iceni said, letting the irony sound in her voice. “Here we are going to Iwa to fix our problems with massive amounts of firepower.”
“That’s not a path you chose.”
“No.” Iceni glanced at Mercia again. “We’ll have to ensure that Imallye knows I am aboard Midway. Once Imallye knows that, she will focus her efforts on destroying this ship.”
“I look forward to it,” Mercia replied with her own small smile.
Iceni looked at the image of the planet Midway, realizing that she had not left this star system since the expedition that had resulted in the capture of this battleship. A lot had happened since then. “Someday . . . no, right now . . . Midway Star System must be as a battleship itself, a fortress that all attacks break upon, and that protects those inside it. What I have risked all to create must not be lost.”
“It will not be, if the citizens have any say in the matter,” Mercia replied.
“Did I say that out loud?” Iceni asked, embarrassed.
Fortunately, she was saved from any further comment by the appearance of Kommodor Marphissa’s image before her. Marphissa was in the fleet command seat aboard Pele, looking perfectly at home there despite the responsibilities that seat implied.
Marphissa saluted. “Madam President, I request permission to take the flotilla out of orbit and begin the transit to the jump point for Iwa.”
Returning the salute, Iceni nodded. “Permission is granted, Kommodor. One more thing. You will command this flotilla. That is not my function here. From this point forward, you are to issue all commands that you deem needed without first requesting permission from me.”
“Yes, Madam President,” Marphissa said. “Does that include the order to jump for Iwa?”
“That includes all orders, Kommodor. Just ensure that I receive a copy of them so I am aware of what is happening.” Iceni smiled at her. “You have my confidence. You are more than welcome to ask my opinion if time permits, but do not hesitate to command this flotilla as you see fit.”
“Yes, Madam President. I understand and will comply.” With a return smile she could not quite suppress, Marphissa’s image vanished.
Iceni tapped a control, and a moment later the image of Colonel Rogero appeared. “Yes, Madam President.”
“Are you as fully prepared as possible, Colonel?”
“Yes.” Rogero gestured with one hand as if casting a die. “There are a number of uncertainties remaining, but we will confront them and deal with them.”
“I want it clearly understood, Colonel,” Iceni emphasized, “that if you confront something that appears to be beyond your soldiers’ abilities to deal with, that you inform me so we can make any necessary alterations in our plans. I want that enigma facility captured if a
t all possible. But if it becomes clear that that is impossible, if our planned tactics do not work as hoped, then I will not hesitate to order the withdrawal of your forces and the bombardment of that base with a rock big enough to split the planet. You are not to destroy your brigade attempting to achieve the unachievable.”
“I understand and will comply, Madam President.” Rogero saluted. “And, thank you. If the task can be done by human effort, the men and women in my brigade will succeed. General Drakon asked me to ensure that you knew that two of the soldiers rescued from Iwa are with my brigade. They were insistent on going back to Iwa to fight the aliens who killed their comrades.”
Iceni sought for words, then simply nodded. “I hope those two don’t expect to find peace inside themselves by seeking vengeance.”
Rogero smiled slightly. “But are you not seeking Vengeance, Madam President?”
It took her a moment to get the joke. She could not help a snort of laughter at the wordplay. “Tell your Captain Bradamont that I will do my best to bring you home, Colonel. For the people. Iceni, out.”
* * *
ABOARD Pele, Marphissa looked around the battle cruiser’s bridge, which felt ridiculously large after all the time she had spent on a heavy cruiser. Next to her seat was that of Kapitan Kontos, who still appeared so young that Marphissa felt an irrational urge to mother him even though she wasn’t that much older. But Kontos was already a veteran of some very demanding battles, and had proven himself not only daring enough for command of a battle cruiser but also the sort of leader whose crew would strive to do anything for him.
Kontos noticed her look and grinned. “This should be an adventure, Kommodor.”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” Marphissa agreed. She tapped a control to talk to Kapitan Diaz aboard Manticore. “We’re about to begin our transit to Iwa. Take care of this star system until we get back, Kapitan.”
Diaz nodded back, his expression serious. “We will die defending this star system, Kommodor.”
She shook her head at him. “I don’t want you to die defending this star. I want you to kill anyone who attacks it. Are you clear on that?”
Diaz’s sober face split into a grin. “Yes, Kommodor. They are to die, not us. I understand and will comply.”
“See that you do. The defense of Midway Star System will be in your hands once this flotilla jumps for Iwa, but we’ll be out of position to stop attacks coming in from some vectors well before that. Listen to Captain Bradamont, but also listen to your gut. You’ve got good instincts.”
“Thank you, Kommodor. Give Granaile Imallye my respects when you kick her butt back to Moorea.”
“I’ll do that.” Marphissa ended the call and tried to relax, feeling suddenly small and far too inexperienced for this command. That sensation only lasted a moment, though. She had fought and beaten the Syndicate. She had fought and beaten Imallye. She had outwitted the enigmas and snatched stranded ground forces soldiers from right under their noses. If they had noses. And she had the confidence of not only Captain Honore Bradamont, one of Black Jack’s own battle cruiser commanders, but also that of President Iceni. I will not be overconfident, but I think I have every right to feel qualified for this command!
She touched the flotilla command circuit control. “All units in the Midway Offensive Flotilla, at time two zero come port three five degrees, down zero four degrees, and accelerate to point one five light speed. Marphissa, out.”
The small multitude of warships swung around under the push of their thrusters, lining up on the same vector, then accelerated together toward the jump point for Iwa Star System. Every ship maintained its position relative to the battleship Midway, which formed the physical guide of the flotilla as well as its figurative heart.
The cruisers and Hunter-Killers of the Midway Guard Flotilla split away from the others, one group heading to an orbit guarding against attacks from the hypernet gate or the jump point from Pele Star System, and the other group moving to take up position to guard against Syndicate attacks from most of the other jump points that Midway boasted. In terms of commerce, those many jump points were a major blessing. In terms of defense, they were a major headache. But Kapitan Diaz would be able to handle whatever came up, Marphissa was certain. And if he needed any advice, Captain Bradamont would be there with him.
But, still, she worried. The Syndicate had surprised them more than once already, and the Syndicate wanted Midway back very badly. If the CEOs running the remnants of the Syndicate had heard that most of Midway’s warships were heading to Iwa, they might make another attempt at reconquering the star system.
Though any reconquest would also require getting past General Drakon and his ground forces. That thought reassured Marphissa quite a bit.
* * *
TWO and a half days later, Captain Bradamont saw the Midway Offensive Flotilla vanish as it had entered jump space about three hours before. In the seat next to her sat Kapitan Diaz. On most of the warships in Midway’s fleet, she would still be eyed with suspicion and even hatred by many in the crew, but not on Manticore. Bradamont had become theirs, by that odd process of comradeship that forged bonds where none ought to exist. She knew it, too, acting calm and cheerful around the specialists instead of tense as she usually was on other ships.
But Bradamont was all business at the moment. “Assume that they’re going to come,” she warned Diaz.
“The Syndicate or the enigmas?”
“The Syndicate,” she said. “From what we’ve seen of the enigmas, they focus on one objective at a time. Right now, that would be Iwa. Once they have that installation working they’ll be able to bring in warships. I warned Kommodor Marphissa to expect enigma ships to conduct reconnaissance of Iwa so they’ll know if humans try to retake the star system. Hopefully, she’ll have finished with Imallye before any more enigmas show up. So what we have to worry about is Syndicate Worlds attacks coming in either through the hypernet gate or one of the jump points from stars they still control. I would advise telling Kapitan Stein to patrol closer to the hypernet gate so she can intercept whatever comes out of it faster.”
“And if the enigmas do show up?” Diaz asked, then answered his own question. “I can’t defend every possible entry into this star system with the warships I have. I have to prioritize. That’s what you mean? So if Kapitan Stein takes Gryphon and her other ships nearer the hypernet gate, where should I prioritize do you think?”
“In my experience fighting the Syndics—Damn, sorry, I mean the Syndicate Worlds,” Bradamont corrected herself, angry that she kept slipping up by using the insult when talking to the people it had once been aimed at, “they tended to keep using the same lines of attack.”
“That’s so,” Diaz agreed, showing no sign of offense at Bradamont’s gaffe. “It wasn’t official doctrine, but in practice we would often be ordered to repeat attacks using the same approach and tactics. Syndicate CEOs think that if they make you do the same thing over and over, sooner or later the results will be different.”
“Then would the next Syndicate assault come through the jump point from Lono?”
“Very likely,” Diaz said. “Not just because of pursuing the same approach, but because the Syndicate can route forces to Lono through Milu Star System. That’s a pretty easy hop from the hypernet gate at Rota Star System. I could have figured all of that out by myself, couldn’t I?”
“You could have,” Bradamont agreed. “All I did was walk you through the steps to get there so you’ll know how to work it out by yourself next time.”
That’s what she was supposed to be doing, preparing these people to stand on their own once the orders Admiral Geary had given her were changed and she was ordered to return to Alliance space. Bradamont had no doubt that would happen sooner or later, and little doubt that when she got back to the Alliance whoever had threatened to blackmail her would once again threaten her. She had never bee
n a spy for the Syndicate Worlds, never wavered in her loyalty to the Alliance, but the Alliance’s own intelligence services had ordered her to play at that in hopes of using her relationship with Rogero to get secrets from the Syndicate. And the relationship with Donal Rogero had always been true, even if neither of them had ever expected any opportunity to pursue it.
She had given her adult life to serving the Alliance, and had fought hard on its behalf. Once, there had only been two real options, either the Alliance or the Syndicate Worlds, and Bradamont would never have turned to the enemy. But now there was Midway, which had been the enemy but was now working very hard to become something much more like the Alliance. Midway, which had good leaders, citizens happy with those leaders, men and women willing to fight for their freedom, and Donal Rogero. The taint of the Syndicate Worlds would take a long time to fade, but these people were trying. They were already partners of the Alliance in every way that mattered.
Could she go home when ordered, pursuing the same paths that duty had once demanded?
She still wore the uniform of the Alliance, but her loyalties were shifting. Not against the Alliance, but to include something else as well.
* * *
JUMP space should have been tailor-made for meditation, Asima Marphissa thought. However wide across jump space was, the entirety of it was composed of gray nothingness. No human had ever detected anything else. In jump space, there was no external world to distract the senses.
There were the mysterious lights that came and went without any detectable pattern. The lights would flare into existence amid the gray nothing, then fade again. Human instruments could detect the visual light coming off them, but nothing else, no heat or radiation or other hint as to what caused the lights.
Marphissa had heard from Bradamont that Alliance sailors considered the lights to have religious meaning. The Syndicate, of course, had no use for metaphysics, so the Syndicate had officially declared the lights to be just illusions created by human senses.
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