Gillard protested that he had been guaranteed safe passage, but the others saw the necessity. Still protesting, Gillard and Citrone were led away under guard. “Well, I’ll sleep easier tonight,” said Crawford.
“I think we all will,” said Frichette.
“Just so long as we can sleep at all!” said Regina. “I’m exhausted.”
Fortunately, the meeting adjourned soon after. Regina led them over to where Tad was standing. “Thank you for the help, Tad. We would have been sunk without you.” Surprisingly the boy did not look happy.
“I did what had to be done, Regina. This war of yours horrifies me. But debts must be paid.”
Chapter Twenty
“Welcome, gentlemen, ladies, please sit down,” said Petre Frichette. “We have quite a bit to discuss, but for the sake of everyone’s comfort, I’ll try to be as brief as possible.” Charles Crawford found a seat around the conference table and wished it was a pile of cushions like the locals used. His flag captain, Harold Speirs, took a seat next to him and shivered.
“I hope he makes it brief,” he whispered, “it’s freezing in here.”
“Just trying to be polite to our allies,” replied Crawford. But Speirs was right: it was cold. The ‘average’ temperature used by the clans did not really suit anyone, but Frichette had insisted they use it aboard his flagship when they had meetings like this. They’d used the same temperature during the conferences on Panmunaptra, but having Regina to snuggle up to had made it entirely tolerable. He wished she was here now, because he certainly wasn’t going to snuggle up to Speirs! His flag captain was an elderly merchant skipper from one of the transports and while competent enough, he was definitely not the snuggling type—and he was old enough to be Regina’s grandfather.
The conference room on Agamemnon wasn’t quite as large as the one on Starsong, but almost. There weren’t as many seats, but that was made up for by the additional display devices. The commanders of the eight clan contingents huddled together in a group at one end of the table, in a wide range of environmental gear, while the Anderan squadron commanders and flag captains took the other. Crawford noted with interest that three of the clan commanders were women. He supposed that with the women not actually bearing any children, there would be less practical reasons for the old role restrictions. He’d read that before the collapse of the UW, sexual stereotypes had all but vanished, but had returned full-force with the chaos that had followed. Andera was slowly doing away with them, but many still existed; all of the Anderans present were male.
“I want to thank you all for coming and also to welcome our friends among the clans,” said Frichette. “We are grateful for the help you are giving us. But now we need to plan out just how we shall make use of your help and how we shall meet the coming attack.” He activated a holographic display and a representation of the star system appeared above the table. The central star, the planets, and the more prominent asteroids were picked out. A cluster of icons showed the location of the Rift Fleet and the gate, out beyond the orbit of the system’s single gas giant.
“Some time in the coming weeks, the Venanci squadron is going to arrive. They have no way of detecting where we are from in hyperspace, so their emergence point is going to be more or less random, although it will obviously be outside the gravity-well boundary and probably on the side of the system facing the Rift. If we are very unlucky, they could materialize right in our laps, but the odds against that are so enormous I think we can safely discount it. In all probability, they will arrive anywhere from one hundred to five hundred million kilometers away from us. We will detect their emergence, so we should have considerable warning.” He pressed a button and a large volume of the display became shaded, showing the likely emergence areas.
“It is dangerous to make assumptions about the enemy’s intentions, but I think we can make a few here. They will arrive expecting to find the fleet still in cold-sleep and themselves masters of this system. Instead, they will find us awake and expecting them, and a system full of unidentified contacts.”
Crawford nodded his head at this. The locals were going to try and cut down on their radio broadcasts and be as inconspicuous as possible, but there was no hope of completely eliminating them. The Venanci were going to pick up a lot of strange contacts. They just had to hope they would not realize exactly what they meant.
“Unfortunately, the Venanci will also detect Citrone’s broadcast. They will learn that she was partially successful in her sabotage and that the fleet is crippled. So, what will they do?” Frichette paused for a moment and sipped from a glass by his chair. The young man was doing remarkably well. Crawford also thought it was a shame they could not have tracked down and destroyed Citrone’s message drone, but it was now so far away and moving so fast that any ship sent after it would not catch up for months—and could only catch up at all by using so much fuel it could never make it back.
“The enemy will have several options open to him, but there is one factor which will have an overriding impact on their plans: lack of reaction mass. When we arrived here, our own tanks were at less than ten percent capacity, it is very likely the enemy will be in the same situation. Once again, they are expecting to find us asleep and helpless. They do not expect to have to fight a battle. Had their plan gone perfectly, they would have had access to our own cracking and refining facilities, and reaction mass would not have been a major consideration. Now, however, it will be a major factor shaping their plans. While it is possible that they might elect to find ice balls and try cracking fuel with the limited facilities they might have aboard ship, I think this unlikely. Such a course of action could take months and they will realize that we will grow more ready with each passing day.
“Therefore, I believe they will attack at once. And with their very limited supply of reaction mass, once they start heading our way, they will be committed; they will not have the ability to break off and try again, nor make any fancy approach maneuvers. They will come straight at us.
“Which is extremely fortunate since our ability to maneuver will also be strictly limited. The clan strike ships have relatively low accelerations and limited endurance and must strike from ambush. Once we are satisfied as to the enemy’s approach vector, we must deploy the strike ships into their path and wait for the enemy to come close enough to attack. If the enemy should choose some other vector after we are deployed, we will not be able to shift quickly enough to meet them. At least not without giving away our positions, and that would be disastrous.”
The clan members shifted in their unfamiliar chairs and muttered among themselves. Detection would mean a slaughter even worse than what happened to the Clorindans. The eight clans had provided nearly four thousand strike ships and an alerted Venanci squadron could blast every one of them to dust.
“At the time the enemy emerges from hyper,” continued Frichette, “our forces will all be collected here, near the fleet anchorage and the gate construction site. I am proposing that once the enemy’s vector is established that we deploy the clan ships in their path approximately a hundred thousand kilometers out from here and then place the rest of our warships about thirty thousand kilometers behind them.” He touched another button and the display zoomed into a much smaller region of space showing the construction site. A red line came in from the edge of the display, right to the icon marking the gate. A cloud of green dots appeared a good distance out along the red line and a cluster of blue icons about half as far.
“Excuse me, Lord Frichette,” said Lu Karrigan’s flag captain, interrupting. Oops, make that Sir Louis’s flag captain. Crawford still had trouble accepting that his old colleagues, and himself, were peers. “Why so far out, sir? The enemy can’t risk damaging the gate or the construction ships. If we stayed close, they would not dare use torpedoes for fear of collateral damage. And considering how thin we are on torpedo defense…”
“An excellent point, Captain, and I had originally thought to do it that way. But then it occurred
to me that to do so was to assume that we are going to lose. We are not going to lose, sir! If we allow the enemy to get that close, what will they do once they realize they can’t win?”
The captain nodded in understanding. “They’ll deliberately try to destroy the gate.”
“Exactly. If they were in among the construction ships and realized they were going to lose the battle, they would surely expend their last attacks to wreck our own efforts—and there would be nothing we could do to stop them. We have to defeat them at a safe distance.” Crawford was impressed. Damn this kid was good! If the Protector didn’t make him an admiral once this was over, he was an idiot.
“Even so, we will be leaving Sir Tosh’s squadron and the clan support vessels back with the construction ships as a final defense. The rest of us, Sir Charles, Sir Louis, Sir Jinsup, and myself will take our squadrons out to meet the enemy.” Crawford glanced over at Tosh Briggs. Initially the man had protested at being given the Rift Fleet’s oldest or most badly crippled ships, until he’d learned he would not be in the forefront of battle. Crawford was just as glad not to have him along.
“Each squadron has at least one ship with operational point defense for torpedo protection, and three of the four have a ship with operational long-range weapons. Given the time, we may have more ships operational as well. But the primary one will be, of course, Agamemnon. We have three of the main turrets operational and that will give us weapons with a range to match anything the enemy is likely to have. I’m hoping that long-range fire from Agamemnon will induce the enemy to try and close with us, at least to ranges where the weapons on their lighter ships will be effective. If all goes well, that will draw them right into the clan strike ships.” A cluster of red icons moved in along the red line on the display and into the swarm of green dots.
“Since we can’t exactly predict the enemy’s course, we will have to deploy the strike ships in a fairly broad arc, to make sure that at least some of them will have a chance to attack. I’m hoping that at least a few hundred will get good shots.” He paused and looked very uncomfortably at the clan warriors. “Unless we are extremely lucky and completely disable all the enemy ships with the first attack, I’m afraid that those clan ships who do reveal themselves may take heavy casualties from return fire. But those beyond attack range should be safe if they do nothing to attract attention to themselves. Our forces will immediately accelerate to close the range and distract the enemy from you so you can withdraw safely.”
There was a stir among the clan warriors and then one stood up; Crawford saw that it was Kar Regane of the Seyotahs. “My warriors will not withdraw, K’ser Frichette! Our debt to you is deep. We shall lie in wait as you suggest, for this is our way, but once the trap is sprung, any of my warriors who have not been able to attack will advance on the enemy. Not all of our ships are so slow and they may still get close enough to strike!” He glanced at the others. “Let those withdraw who wish to, but the Seyotah shall not!”
This produced an immediate outburst from the others. None wished to be outdone in a show of courage. Within a minute, every clan had pledged to press their attack to the utmost. Crawford could see that Petre was not happy about this turn of events. “My lords, I truly appreciate your offers and I am in awe of your bravery, but I am not sure this is a wise course. It could lead to very heavy casualties for little advantage…”
“You will close with the enemy and fight knife to knife,” said one in defiance, “we are not afraid to do the same!” Several others voiced similar sentiments, and after a moment, Petre seemed to bow to the inevitable. To continue to argue would only damage the fragile alliance.
“Very well,” he said. “We shall all close on the enemy together and destroy them.” This produced a healthy cheer and Petre smiled and shook his head ever so slightly.
“All right, let’s look at the details of our deployment…”
Three hours later, Crawford was thoroughly chilled and was grateful when the meeting broke up. His head was whirling with battle plans. He glanced at his flag captain and wondered if he was as overwhelmed as he was. But all the plans were on his computer and if he studied them for the rest of the day, perhaps he would have a better grasp…
“Back to the ship, sir?” asked Speirs.
“Yes, let’s get…”
“Hey there sailor, got a minute?” said a sultry voice. Crawford stopped in surprise. Regina was there, leaning against the bulkhead and smiling. He glanced at Speirs and blushed.
“Uh, I’ll meet you back at the ship, Captain.”
“Right, sir,” said Speirs with an infuriating grin. The older man walked away and Regina came up close.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
She kissed him lightly on the lips. “So, plans all made?”
“For now. There will still be a lot of refinements—if we have the time. What brings you over here?” He idly wondered how she had managed to get aboard the flagship…
“You, of course. I just came to say good-bye.”
He twitched and took her hand. “So soon? I knew you’d be going off to Bastet eventually, but right now?”
“Yes, things are getting to a critical stage where real decisions need to be made. And Ramsey’s last message said that my presence was not imperative…”
“…which made it absolutely imperative that you go right now,” quipped Crawford.
Regina laughed. “Yes. You’re getting to know me pretty well, aren’t you?”
“Starting to.”
“Ramsey could not have said anything more likely to get me out there. So, I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, huh?”
“Yeah, but I guess you’ll be studying this stuff all night, huh?” She pulled the computer pad from his grasp and held it up.
“Well… not all night…”
“Come on, if you’re lucky I’ll help you study.” She slipped her arm around his waist and steered him toward the shuttle bay.
* * * * *
Brannon Gillard stared at the woman across from him. She was sitting cross-legged on a cushion and studying a reader, a water bottle forgotten at her side. She was wearing a simple set of coveralls. Except for her too-pink complexion, her too-yellow hair, and the oddly blue eyes, she might have been any young woman of the clan.
“What are you reading?” he asked.
She looked up, startled out of her concentration. “It’s something on the history of your people.”
“By Higgansen?”
She looked down and paged the reader back to the beginning and then nodded. “Yes, that’s the name.”
“He’s the standard on the subject. A little dated now and not exactly unbiased, but still a classic. You are able to understand the writing?”
“Yes. Most of it. It takes some getting used to, but it’s not that different from our own. That’s not to say I understand all of what it’s saying here. A lot of this is completely outside of anything I learned in school.”
“Understandable. Our societies have been separated for so long.”
“The year numbers on the dates don’t even make sense to me. What does this suffix ‘AD’ stand for?”
Brannon laughed, being careful not to dislodge his respirator mask. “There’s quite a bit of debate on that. Some argue that it stands for ‘After Departure’, referring to when the first starships left Old Earth. Others think it is after some other, more ancient, date of importance.”
“What do you think?”
“It’s not something I have any strong opinion on, but I suppose I’d support the latter argument. The numbers are too high to agree with how long Mankind has been out among the stars—assuming, of course that the length of a standard year hasn’t changed. What is your calendar based on?”
Carlina looked uncomfortable. “It varies a bit from place to place, but most of them start with the date of the destruction of Earth during the Great Revolt.”
Brannon shuddered. “I still find it hard to
believe that Mankind’s birthplace no longer exists. The planet was completely destroyed?”
“So the books say. Earth and all of the Core Worlds. There’s still an uninhabited region two hundred parsecs across known as ‘The Burned District’.”
“So much death. So much hatred to do such a thing. Was this ‘United Worlds’ truly so evil?”
“Probably not,” admitted Carlina with a shrug. “It’s as much legend now as history. But the date of destruction is still a holiday and many families trace their line back to the original rebels with great pride.” She paused and looked at him. “We are a violent people, Brannon. I’m truly sorry we have brought our violence to your home.”
He sighed. “The events of the past weeks have shown that we are not, perhaps, so different from you. We managed to keep our violence under control through custom and ritual, but clearly the potential was always still there, just waiting for the spark to let it loose. It is not your fault, my wife.” He jerked in alarm. He’d not meant to add that honorific, it had just popped out. Fortunately, Carlina seemed more amused than anything else.
“That still takes some getting used to. I… I, uh, presume that once this mess is over and once we are out of here—assuming we do get out of here—that we’ll dissolve this partnership of convenience?”
Brannon glanced around at the quarters they had been confined to on Panmunaptra since the conference. They were very comfortable and his adjoining room, beyond the airlock, fully suited his needs. But it was still a prison. “I am certain we will be released once this battle is done. It was stretching the law to the breaking point just to confine us, I cannot imagine they would dare keep us prisoner once the need is past.”
“I hope you are right. But you did not answer my question—husband.”
“No, I didn’t, did I? Well, naturally, if you wish to dissolve our marriage that is what we shall do. But…”
Across the Great Rift Page 37