The Lost Stars

by Jack Campbell

  She laughed, letting all the scorn she could manage go into the sound. “Does he think I am like him? Does he think I really am a Syndicate CEO? Is he so stupid as to think I would betray those who follow me, who have sworn to follow President Iceni, who fight for our freedom and the freedom of our families?”

  “I think the answer to all of those things is yes,” Kapitan Diaz replied.

  Bradamont had been listening with disbelief painted large on her face. “He actually proposed that, thinking you would accept?”

  “It’s probably how he got to be a CEO. By accepting similar offers and selling out people who were depending upon him,” Marphissa explained. “And he’s a snake. He doesn’t mean it. Every word was a lie. I would die along with everyone else in a command position, while the workers were shipped off to slave labor. He thinks my greed will override my common sense and cause me to ignore my experience with watching people being betrayed every time they were fools enough to believe the soothing words of a snake.”

  “Are you going to tell him that?” Diaz asked with a grin.

  Marphissa almost said yes, then shook her head. “No. I want to buy time for us by making him think I am considering his offer. The closer we get to the gate before the Syndicate mobile forces start attacking, the better chance we have of getting some of the freighters through.”

  She looked around the bridge at the grim expressions her last words had brought to life. “We have to accept this. We outnumber them, but stopping them from hitting the freighters is going to be very difficult. We’ll do our best.”

  “Those freighters are packed with workers,” Diaz said. “Any hit at all will kill many.”

  “We will do our best! Let me send my reply to Sub-CEO Qui. Comm specialist, can you give me a digital background that makes it look like I am in my stateroom?”

  “It is done, Kommodor,” the comm specialist said. “Ready for your transmission.”

  Marphissa put on a wary expression this time before hitting the reply command. “Sub-CEO Qui, your offer is intriguing. I am carefully considering it. You understand that I must maneuver carefully to ensure none of my subordinates suspect they may be supplanted. I will give you my reply soon. Out.”

  She looked around. The Syndicate flotilla was ten light-minutes distant, so it was a bit over an hour and a half before any physical contact was possible. “I’m getting out of this CEO suit now,” Marphissa announced. “If I’m going to fight, it will be in the uniform of Midway.”

  She was back on the bridge a few minutes later, in time to hear the operations specialist call out a warning. “The Syndicate flotilla is maneuvering.”

  Marphissa watched, waiting, as the vectors on the Syndicate mobile forces changed. “They’re accelerating to intercept. I guess Sub-CEO Qui didn’t like my answer.”

  “Forty minutes to contact on their current vector,” Diaz noted. “He said he’d be going after the freighters, and even though snakes always lie, I think this time he told us what he was actually going to do.”

  The freighters were sitting ducks and would be all of the long transit from this jump exit to the hypernet gate. The light cruisers and HuKs the snakes had at their disposal couldn’t defeat Marphissa’s warships, but they could target the freighters and blow the large, clumsy ships apart one by one.

  I’ve never done this. How can I save those freighters? Can I save those freighters?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  MARPHISSA bit her lip as she thought. Defending against slashing attacks was going to be hard. “We need to keep close to the freighters. Right on top of them.”

  A gentle touch on her shoulder caused Marphissa to look up and over. Bradamont was there, looking at Marphissa and shaking her head in a barely perceptible way.

  Marphissa looked at her display again, then stood up abruptly. “I’ll be right back,” she told Diaz, and left the bridge quickly once more.

  As she had guessed, Bradamont was right behind. “Let’s talk,” Bradamont urged. “In your stateroom.”

  Marphissa walked to her stateroom, waited until Bradamont entered, then sealed the hatch. “What do you want? I don’t know how to do this. I’ve done other operations. I have some experience. But convoy protection? The one time I did something like that, I was the most junior executive rank and not even on the bridge of my ship.”

  “I know what to do,” Bradamont said.

  “Please, please, do not give me a talk about how Black Jack saved a convoy at Grendel—”

  “That was different. He was badly outnumbered. You have an advantage in numbers of warships here, and you can use that to get through to the hypernet gate without losing any freighters.”

  “If you know how to do it, then you should—”

  “No. You have to command. Here’s the key. You can’t tether your defending warships too close to the freighters. That’s a natural thing to do, but it’s the worst thing you can do.”

  Marphissa sat down, staring at Bradamont. “Why?”

  “Because you need to break up the firing runs by the attackers before they get so close to the freighters that you can’t stop them. That means ranging out, hitting the attackers while they’re trying to position for firing runs. Up, down, right, left, all directions. Keep hitting the attackers, and they won’t have a chance to go after the freighters.”

  She could understand what Bradamont was saying, but her instincts rebelled against the tactics. “I’m sorry, but that doesn’t make sense. If my warships are away from the freighters, the freighters will be exposed to attack. I can’t put out a distant screen strong enough to stop incoming warships around the entire sphere surrounding the freighters.”

  “You don’t have to! It’s an active defense. Watch the movements of the attackers, get your warships out there, and when the attackers start to line up to hit the freighters, hit them.”

  Marphissa thought carefully, trying to drive away distractions and fears that hindered her focus. “How do I know where the attackers are going to go, so I can have my warships out in the right directions?”

  “That’s the easy part, Asima. The attackers have to go where your freighters are. If you can stop them from doing that, it doesn’t matter where else they go in this star system.” Bradamont knelt in front of her so that their heads were on a level. “You can do this. You’re good. You listen to the movement of your ships, you feel where they should go and how to get them there. You do the same thing when watching other ships. A lot of ship drivers never figure that out and need automated systems to handle everything. Yes, you need more experience, but I’ve seen you handle this ship. You can do this.”

  “Am I as good as Black Jack?” Marphissa asked, standing up and taking a deep breath.

  “Nobody is as good as Black Jack. But, someday, you might be,” Bradamont said, standing as well to face her.

  “I was kidding,” Marphissa said.

  “I’m not.”

  Marphissa stared again, stunned, studying Bradamont’s eyes and face for any trace of humor or mockery. “Do you really believe that?”

  “Yes. Now get back on the bridge and get this flotilla safely to the hypernet gate, Kommodor.”

  “Is this . . . some kind of . . . motivation?” Marphissa asked.

  Bradamont gave her a puzzled look. “Yes. Though it’s also true.”

  “How strange. I’m used to Syndicate-style motivation. Don’t screw this up or you will be shot. That sort of thing.”

  Bradamont laughed. “Now you’re kidding me.”

  “No. Really. I’m not.” Marphissa took another long breath, pretending not to notice the consternation on Bradamont’s face. “Stay on the bridge with me. If I’m missing something, if there’s something I should be doing that I’m not, let me know.”

  “You don’t need me,” Bradamont said, “but I’ll be there. Purely because I have more experience at th
is.”

  They were back on the bridge seconds later. Marphissa took her seat, feeling some confidence now that she had an idea of what to do. The worry and uncertainty from the watch specialists was almost palpable when she walked back onto the bridge, but as everyone picked up on their Kommodor’s new attitude, the atmosphere lightened a bit.

  Marphissa took another close look at the situation. The Syndicate flotilla was coming in from slightly below and to starboard of her flotilla. Her freighters were arranged in two columns of three, one above the other. Loosely arranged in columns, that is, since even automated systems couldn’t seem to keep citizen-crewed freighters from wandering off station a bit like easily distracted packhorses. The warships were ranged in front of and to either side of the freighters.

  Her hand went to her display, tentative at first, tracing paths to new positions for her warships well ahead of the freighters. As she filled in the picture, her self-assurance grew. Yes. Manticore and Kraken positioned along the direct intercept vector the Syndicate forces were on. The four light cruisers roving above and below the heavy cruisers, and slightly behind them. The six HuKs outside the light cruisers, to left and right, above and below, slightly behind them, ready to move in support of the light cruisers or the heavy cruisers. She resisted the urge to look back at Bradamont for approval. Everyone else would see that gesture, undermining their confidence in her. Instead, Marphissa made a show of tapping her comm control. “All units in the Recovery Flotilla, this is Kommodor Marphissa. Orders are on the way for new positions. Execute immediately upon receipt.”

  Diaz took his worried gaze from the Syndicate flotilla to the orders for Manticore, his eyebrows rising in surprise as he saw them. “Out there?”

  “Yes,” Marphissa said. “Out there. We’re going to meet the Syndicate warships and kick them hard before they can get near the freighters.”

  “But—”

  “Move it, Kapitan.”

  “Yes, Kommodor.”

  Manticore’s main propulsion lit off, kicking her away from the freighters. All about her, the other warships from Midway surged into faster motion, altering vectors to pull ahead.

  “Kommodor?” the comm specialist asked. “The executives commanding the freighters are all calling, asking to speak to you.”

  Marphissa waved an angry hand toward the specialist. “Tell them that I will prevent them from being damaged or destroyed as long as I am not distracted by unneeded conversations and as long as they stay on their vectors for the gate. If they try to run, if they scatter, they will die.”

  “Yes, Kommodor. I will tell them.”

  It felt good to have others responding to her orders. It also felt . . . scary. They were doing what she said. If it didn’t work, it would be her fault. I suppose I could do the Syndicate thing and blame some of my subordinates, but I won’t. Besides, that won’t bring back the freighters if they have been destroyed.

  The distance to the Syndicate mobile forces had been down to eight light-minutes when Marphissa ordered her own warships into their new defensive formation. By the time her warships had reached their assigned positions relative to the freighters, the Syndicate flotilla was only three light-minutes away and coming on at a steady point one light speed, matching Marphissa’s warships.

  Three light-minutes at a combined closing speed of point two light would be covered in fifteen minutes.

  Marphissa tapped her controls again. “All units in the Recovery Flotilla, this is Kommodor Marphissa. Our primary goal is to protect the freighters. That means forcing the Syndicate mobile forces to break off any attack runs, or, if they maintain attack runs, to disable or destroy those warships before they can get within range of the freighters. Once a Syndicate warship has been forced to break off an attack run, you are not to pursue it. Remain in position where you can intercept other Syndicate attacks. Pursuit is only authorized if a Syndicate warship manages to get past our defensive screen and is actually on a firing run against the freighters. If that happens, that Syndicate warship must be stopped. We have rescued our comrades from imprisonment. Now we must ensure that the snakes do not stop us from getting those comrades home. For the people! Marphissa, out.”

  The Syndicate flotilla, badly outnumbered as it was, continued heading straight for an intercept with the freighters, the smooth curve of its vector running straight through the center of the defensive shield set up by Marphissa. The Syndicate ships were in a simple, standard formation, a rectangle with the three light cruisers in the center and the HuKs ranged in front of them. On the display, it looked a bit like a battering ram aimed at the shield of Midway warships. “Is he going to try to blow right through us?” she wondered.

  “It’s been tried,” Bradamont commented. “If he did, how much would make it through?”

  “If I collapse my defensive shield around his vector and hit him with everything? Not much. But if all he cares about is hitting the freighters, I’m guessing one or two HuKs and one of the light cruisers would get past us unless we scored a lot of lucky hits on him.” Marphissa leaned forward, thinking. “He’s a snake. They don’t worry about how many citizens die. But they do worry about equipment. Ramming through our warships would mean losing a minimum of two-thirds of his force, assuming we didn’t manage to catch and wipe out the survivors after they had managed to hit the freighters. That’s the big question. How badly does he want to hurt those freighters?”

  “We don’t know his orders,” Kapitan Diaz pointed out.

  “But he’s a snake. He’s in command of the flotilla, meaning he is responding to orders from the senior snake in this star system. What would that senior snake want?”

  Diaz made a derisory noise. “He’s a Syndicate CEO, right? So he wants optimum results at minimum or no cost.”

  Marphissa nodded. “He’s not going to want to take losses doing this, or at least he’ll want to keep those losses to a minimum. This isn’t a war engagement to them. It’s an internal security action where our losses don’t matter, but they want to keep theirs down.”

  “Why is he holding that course, then? We’ll shrink our defensive shield down to hit him with everything when he comes through it. He’ll take heavy losses and not manage to hit the freighters hard.”

  “Ah!” Marphissa banged her own fist against her forehead. “That’s what he’s doing! His goal is to get through to the freighters!”

  “I thought I said that,” Diaz complained.

  “He wants me to concentrate my screening forces! And I’m going to make him think I’m doing that!” Her hands moved across her display, painting new tracks for her ships, fixing that as stage one of a maneuver, then altering the tracks dramatically for stage two. I have to time this right. He needs to think I’m falling for it. “All warships in the Recovery Flotilla, new maneuvering orders are attached. Execute orders at time one seven. Marphissa, out.”

  Diaz nodded as he viewed the attachment, then frowned. But he had been trained in the Syndicate system, so he entered the commands into Manticore’s maneuvering systems without asking further questions.

  At time one seven, thrusters fired on the cruisers and HuKs of the Midway force, pitching them onto converging courses that would dramatically shrink the size of the defensive shield and allow concentrated fire against the oncoming Syndicate flotilla. What if I’m wrong? Marphissa worried. If I guessed wrong, what happens next will let him get through with a lot more of his mobile forces intact. But I must be right. Sub-CEO Qui may or may not be worried about losses, but he is worried about fulfilling his orders, and he needs his ships intact to do that.

  “Five minutes to contact,” the operations specialist announced.

  “All units,” Marphissa sent, “engage any Syndicate warship that comes within range. Keep any of them from getting on vectors that intercept the freighters.”

  “They’re already in those vectors,” Diaz pointed out.

 
; “Not for long,” Marphissa replied with considerably more confidence than she felt inside.

  At two minutes before contact, the second stage of her plan cut in. Thrusters fired again, pitching ships up and outward from the line the Syndicate flotilla would follow to reach the freighters. Even the two heavy cruisers swayed out from a direct intercept of the oncoming Syndicate forces.

  Diaz, clearly nerving himself to question her orders, suddenly stared at his display. “What are they doing?”

  “What I knew they would do!” Marphissa announced triumphantly.

  The Syndicate formation had broken, the individual warships flowering outward in a spreading pattern that would pass above, below, and on all sides of the vector they had been following.

  “If we had concentrated around the vector line—” Diaz began.

  “They would have passed outward of us on every side! That was Sub-CEO Qui’s plan, to trick us into a compact formation that he would bypass by suddenly spreading out his ships. Now, Kapitan, get one of those light cruisers for me!”

  Manticore’s new vector was swinging up and to port, toward the new vector from a Syndicate light cruiser that had bent his vector forty degrees upward to pass over the Midway forces.

  Marphissa’s hands flew across her display, ensuring that every Syndicate warship had at least one Midway warship slewing outward to intercept it before it could get past the defensive shield.

  Manticore was heading for a light cruiser, Kraken had targeted another, and three of Marphissa’s light cruisers, Harrier, Kite, and Eagle, were swooping down and to the right after the third Syndicate light cruiser. Light cruiser Falcon had a Syndicate HuK in its sights, while the six HuKs of Marphissa’s forces were accelerating onto vectors aimed at the remaining three Syndicate HuKs. The single, rapidly approaching time to contact had dissolved into a dozen different estimates of when different parts of the opposing forces would come within weapons range of each other.

  But those estimates began shifting wildly as the Syndicate warships realized that their ploy had failed, and they were facing superior numbers of defenders at every point on the approach to the freighters. Syndicate light cruisers and HuKs bent their vectors even farther, spreading wider and fanning outward to all sides, as they tried to avoid contact with the Midway warships.