The Lost Stars

by Jack Campbell

  “How long can she hold it?” Bradamont murmured to Marphissa.

  Marphissa studied the hull-stress readings climbing quickly into red zones. “Ten seconds at this rate. No more.”

  “That’s enough.”

  The missiles, accelerating for all they were worth for the point where Manticore would have been if she had kept accelerating all out, now found themselves having to swing onto much shorter intercepts as Manticore decelerated as quickly as the heavy cruiser could. The turns required of the missiles to do that were extremely tight. Far too tight for the structure of the missiles to withstand in most cases. As the missiles slewed about, many of them broke apart under the stress.

  Six survived, but their radical maneuvers had brought them, for a few crucial seconds, to nearly a standstill relative to Manticore.

  Hell lances stabbed out again, nailing every surviving missile.

  “Reduce thrust on all main propulsion units to two-thirds,” Bradamont ordered. The strain on Manticore eased immediately, the stress warnings hesitating before they began shading back down into safe territory.

  “All of the Syndicate ships are changing vectors,” the operations specialist said. “Kapitan, the Syndicate flotilla is heading for the hypernet gate.”

  “A smart move,” Marphissa remarked, feeling satisfaction that shaded into disappointment. The heavy cruisers pursuing Manticore had veered off and were moving quickly to join up with the Syndicate battleship once more. “Unfortunately. They’re not staying to fight.”

  The Alliance warships were storming toward the Syndicate warships but, according to the projections on her display, would not get within weapons range before the Syndicate flotilla could use the gate to escape. “Why couldn’t Black Jack catch them?” Marphissa muttered to Bradamont.

  “The plan was to get rid of the flotilla,” Bradamont murmured back. “With or without actual fighting. We successfully tricked Boyens’s ships into firing onto an Alliance-flagged warship, giving Admiral Geary grounds for shooting back. But if CEO Boyens chooses to avoid contact, Admiral Geary can’t force it. This trick will force the Syndicate Worlds’ flotilla to leave, though.”

  Still feeling disgruntled, Marphissa checked the track on the rest of the Midway Flotilla, which was coming on a slightly curving intercept aimed at the heavy cruisers hastening back to the Syndicate battleship. The odds in a heavy cruiser–to–heavy cruiser fight hadn’t gotten any better. “This is Kommodor Marphissa to the Midway Flotilla. Ensure that you remain out of range of the Syndicate weapons unless one of the Syndicate ships tries to defect to us.”

  “What are the chances of that?” Bradamont asked as she altered Manticore’s vector again, bringing the ship on track to join up with the rest of the Midway Flotilla.

  “They could be good,” Marphissa said. “It depends on how many snakes are aboard each ship, how alert they are, how loyal to the Syndicate the officers and crew are, and a lot of luck. But if the Syndicate flotilla is going to use the hypernet gate, there’s little time left for anyone to try a mutiny.”

  “Kommodor—!” the communications specialist began, then stopped abruptly, looking puzzled.

  Marphissa had barely begun to look that way when an urgent alert on her display began pulsing near the Syndicate battleship. “A Syndicate light cruiser just blew up.” It took her a moment to realize that she had said those words. “What happened?”

  “There has been no firing from the Syndicate flotilla except the missiles launched at us,” the operations specialist confirmed.

  “From the signature of the explosion,” the engineering specialist said, “it was a power-core overload. There were no precursors, no warning signs. It just overloaded.”

  “How can that happen?” Marphissa demanded. “There are safety interlocks, physical and in the software. There are passwords, there are sequences that must be followed, there are automatic corrective measures. How could a power core overload without any warning?”

  “Kommodor,” the communications specialist said, her voice subdued. “I think I know. Just before the light cruiser exploded, we received a message broadcast toward us by directional beam. The message ID tagged it as from CL-347. All I heard was freedom or—and then it cut off.”

  Marphissa covered her face with one hand, aware of the silence that had fallen on the bridge. She took a long moment to compose herself, then lowered the hand and looked around. “The snakes have a new trick. Or the Syndicate CEOs. They would rather destroy a ship than let the crew escape.” There was no need to drive the point home. Everyone already hated the snakes and the bosses. This incident would only reinforce their determination to fight to the death rather than surrender.

  “The Syndicate flotilla has entered the hypernet gate,” the operations specialist said. “The star system is free of Syndicate military forces.”

  Bradamont nodded to acknowledge the report. “The operation is complete.” Her voice sounded subdued as well, the death of the light cruiser having cast a pall over any desire to celebrate. “Kommodor, to whom do I return command of Manticore? You or . . . ?”

  Kapitan Toirac stiffened at the question but stayed silent. Kontos, standing behind him, had holstered his sidearm, but Toirac couldn’t see that.

  Perhaps, despite everything that had come before, Marphissa would have hesitated to take the final step. But not after watching that light cruiser be destroyed. Her mood left no room for further tolerance of someone who could not, would not, fulfill his responsibilities.

  She tapped an internal comm control. “Kapitan-Leytenant Diaz, come to the bridge.”

  It only took a little more than a minute, but seemed far longer, before Diaz appeared. “Yes, Kommodor?”

  This was not a moment she had sought. Marphissa had to steel herself as she stood up to face Diaz. “Kapitan Toirac, for failure to carry out your responsibilities you are relieved of command and of all duties. Kapitan-Leytenant Diaz, you are promoted to Kapitan and will assume command of Manticore effective immediately.”

  Diaz, his expression aghast, then saddened, glanced toward Toirac. He nodded and saluted. “Yes, Kommodor.”

  “Kapitan Toirac, you are confined to quarters,” Marphissa said, fighting to keep her voice from quavering. Why did you force me to do this?

  Toirac got up and stomped off the bridge without a salute or other acknowledgment of Marphissa.

  “I’ll make sure he gets there without any . . . difficulties,” Kontos said. “By your leave, Kommodor.”

  “Yes. Go.” She watched Kontos go quickly after Toirac to make sure he didn’t attempt any mischief, then faced Diaz again. “You know why I took this action. Take command of this ship, Kapitan Diaz.”

  “I will.” Diaz glanced at Bradamont.

  “I relinquish command to Kapitan Diaz,” Bradamont said.

  “Thank you, Kapitan . . . Bascare?”

  “Bradamont. I am Captain Bradamont.”

  Marphissa placed one hand on her shoulder. “She is Black Jack’s, sent to assist President Iceni and aid us in getting rid of the Syndicate flotilla. Captain Bradamont will be leaving Manticore soon, but she will remain in this star system when Black Jack’s fleet leaves because Black Jack wants everyone to know that he supports the freedom of Midway Star System.”

  She could feel emotions on the bridge wavering.

  “An Alliance officer?” Diaz asked, doubtful.

  “One of Black Jack’s officers,” Marphissa corrected, her voice firm. “One of his battle cruiser commanders.” They all understood the significance of that, their expressions taking on grudging respect.

  “Kommodor,” the senior specialist asked, his voice hesitant, “she will not command us?”

  “No. It was necessary this time, to place the Syndicate flotilla in the position of having fired on a ship under Alliance charter and with an Alliance officer in temporary command. That g
ave Black Jack justification to destroy the Syndicate flotilla, which unfortunately escaped. But she is not here to command us. Captain Bradamont is here to mark Black Jack’s commitment to our freedom.”

  “Why would Black Jack require justification for whatever he wanted to do?” the operations specialist asked.

  Marphissa almost snapped back at the bold question, but Bradamont forestalled her. “Because Admiral Geary, the man you call Black Jack, is not a Syndicate Worlds CEO. He does not do whatever he wants. He follows the law.”

  That impressed them. They were still wary, but the worker specialists looked at Marphissa and nodded, then the senior specialist stood and saluted. “We understand, Kommodor.”

  As Marphissa and Bradamont left the bridge, Bradamont sighed. “I get the feeling I’d better stay confined to my quarters as well.”

  “I’m sorry, but you’re right. It will be safer.”

  “I can’t complain. If there were a Syndic officer on an Alliance warship, she or he would face the same attitudes.”

  “I’ll find out whether President Iceni wants you picked up by a freighter on a regular supply run or sent on a Hunter-Killer or other warship.” Marphissa said. “Until then, I’ll post a guard outside your stateroom. I hope you understand.”

  “You’d better post a guard at that Kapitan’s stateroom as well,” Bradamont said.

  “I’m sorry you saw that.” Marphissa made a muddled gesture, half-angry and half-frustrated. “Why did he make it so hard?”

  “They always do,” Bradamont commiserated. “The ones who can’t do their jobs always make everything as hard as possible for everyone else as well.”

  “He was my friend.”

  “Ouch. You got promoted pretty fast, didn’t you? Welcome to the joys of higher rank. Being willing to do what you have to do, but don’t want to do, is a big part of it. Some people can handle that. Some can’t.”

  Marphissa grimaced. “I’ll miss you, Captain. Good luck once you leave Manticore.”

  “You’ll see me again, Kommodor. We’ll need to convince your bosses to let you recover some prisoners of war even though it will mean sending some of your warships a long ways away. That’s going to be a harder sell now. Admiral Geary is going to be leaving this star system soon since the Syndic flotilla has been chased off, so Midway will be on its own again as far as defenses go.”

  “PRESIDENT Iceni, we have encountered an unusual situation. We can’t access the hypernet gates at Indras, Praja, Kachin, or Taniwah,” Black Jack said. “CEO Boyens warned that the Syndicate government would make our journey back harder than we hoped, but we didn’t expect that they would drop the Syndicate Worlds’ hypernet system. According to our hypernet key, the only gate now accessible is at Sobek.”

  Drakon, who had come to the command center to watch the departure of Geary’s fleet, shook his head in disbelief at the message. “Prime dropped almost every hypernet gate? That will cripple what’s left of the Syndicate Worlds. The economic impact alone will be huge, but it will also seriously hinder its ability to shift military forces to deal with internal and external threats. Did they kill their chances to hold some stars together in the Syndicate Worlds just to make Black Jack’s journey home more difficult?”

  “It does seem like tearing your hair out to avoid going bald,” Iceni agreed. She knew she had been moody lately and had been trying to shake it. But Boyens had escaped instead of having his flotilla destroyed. Black Jack’s fleet was leaving, taking with it all the protection for Midway Star System that such a mass of warships could provide. There was at least one snake agent still hidden close enough to plant an agent inside the planetary command center. On top of all that, she had found herself increasingly bothered by a vague sense that there were other plans under way, involving people and events she wasn’t even aware of, like the slow movements of continents that you did not feel except when earthquakes suddenly and devastatingly brought it all to your attention.

  And now this.

  “Where is Sobek?” Iceni asked, her brow furrowed with concern. The answer popped up on the display, a window showing a region of space much closer to the Alliance. “Why would Sobek’s gate be spared?”

  “It doesn’t make a lot of sense,” Drakon said. “Maybe Prime ordered it and something went wrong at Sobek, so its gate didn’t collapse as ordered.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense! Prime ordering the elimination of their own hypernet? Why not just commit suicide outright?” She lowered her head, fighting for control with an effort she knew must be obvious to those around her. “Do you have any idea what impact this will have on us? It means our gate has become nearly useless.”

  “We still have all the jump points,” Drakon pointed out.

  “Yes. Relatively speaking, that will leave us with an advantage, but . . . damn them.”

  “Could Black Jack be lying about this?”

  “Why would he? The instant another ship showed up from another gate, it would tell us he had lied. Togo, I want our techs checking that gate. I want a full, remote diagnostic and a check of accessible gates using our monitoring software.”

  “Yes, Madam President.” Togo paused in a listening attitude, one hand to the phone relay in his ear. “I had already ordered our technicians here to check on the remote status signals from the gate. They indicate no problems with the functioning of the gate.”

  “If there’s no problem with our gate, then all of those other gates really are gone!” Iceni said. “Get a ship out there. I want techs checking that gate in person, not remotely. Boyens was near that gate a long time. Maybe he managed to sneak something onto the gate-control mechanisms that is producing this problem.”

  “In theory,” Togo said, “such a mechanism would be detected due to its interference with the gate-control mechanisms.”

  “I didn’t ask for a lecture on theory! According to what the Alliance found, the technology for those gates came from the enigmas. We know far too little about the hypernet and the gates. Do as I have instructed!” Iceni turned a furious look on Drakon. “What have those bastards who rule the Syndicate Worlds done to us? Are they pulling everything down around them just to ensure we lose as well?”

  But Drakon wasn’t really listening to her, instead gazing at the display intently. She managed to damp down her anger before it exploded. “Is there something up there I don’t see?” Iceni asked through clenched teeth.

  “No.” Drakon shook his head, still half-lost in thought. “There’s only one gate left, at Sobek. Why Sobek?”

  “I already asked you that.”

  “This means Black Jack has to take his fleet to Sobek,” Drakon pointed out.

  “Of course, it—” Iceni halted in midsentence as she realized the point of what Drakon was saying. “Prime wants Black Jack to go to Sobek, and only to Sobek.”

  “Yeah.” Drakon frowned and shook his head. “That would explain why Sobek was the only gate left standing, so that Black Jack would be forced to take a path home that Prime wants him to take. And he has no choice, the way I read it. He has to stick his head in that lion’s mouth in order to get back to Alliance space in any reasonable amount of time. Using jump drives all the way back would take way too long. But it doesn’t explain why Prime would take the extreme step of dropping the rest of their hypernet in order to force Black Jack to go to Sobek.”

  “The Dancers?” Iceni felt a coldness sweep through her at the thought. “Would stopping them from reaching Alliance space be worth that cost to the Syndicate Worlds?”

  “That’s possible.” Drakon looked even grimmer than before. “The first human contact with a nonhuman intelligence, if you don’t count the enigmas, and I don’t think you can. There’s no contact with the enigmas. Just war. But the Dancers are different. It would be just like the CEOs on Prime to want to destroy the Syndicate Worlds if necessary in order to keep the Alliance from gaining f
riendly contact with an alien species.”

  “That could explain it. There’s also that superbattleship. Boyens kept pushing for access to that long after it was clear that Black Jack would never allow him within a light-hour of it. All Black Jack told us was that there was potentially new technology on that Kick ship and, hopefully, more information about the Kicks themselves. Maybe that’s all he knows. But that Kick technology could be of immense value, and Prime would want to deny that to the Alliance as well.” Iceni made a fist and rapped it against her own forehead. “But, all of those are long-term concerns. Short term, the impact on business in the Syndicate Worlds would be catastrophic. I just don’t see how they could do that. I’ll tell Black Jack we have no idea what the problem is but that we’ll do all we can to find out.”

  “Do you want to warn him about going to Sobek?” Drakon asked.

  “Do I have to?”

  “No. If we saw the threat there, we can be certain that Black Jack saw it, too.”

  Iceni headed for the secure office off the command center that she had been using lately, followed closely by Togo. “When was the last time we know that the hypernet gate could access other stars than Sobek?” she asked Togo, as they walked.

  Togo consulted his data pad. “Two days. A freighter came in from Nanggal.”

  “Nothing since then? That’s unusual but not too unusual. No wonder this came as a surprise.”

  She entered the room, Togo behind her pausing to ensure the door closed securely, she glancing back to check the green glow of the lights pronouncing the room safe, reaching the desk, and beginning to walk around it to the chair—

  “Freeze!”

  Togo did not use that word or that tone of command unless it was very, very necessary.

  Iceni jerked herself to a stop so quickly that a muscle protested. But she ignored that pain, concentrating on not moving.