The Lost Stars 01-Tarnished Knight

by Jack Campbell

  And she waited. Waited for the light-speed message to reach the other flotilla, itself only a couple of minutes from reaching the battleship, and for the light from any reaction to come back to her.

  And saw one of the other formation’s light cruisers suddenly peel away, bending toward empty space.

  “That got their attention,” Marphissa commented with a grin. “There goes another.”

  “Three HuKs taking evasive action away from their formation,” the operations specialist said. “Because of time variations, the actions don’t seem to have been coordinated.”

  The remaining two light cruisers and three HuKs in the other formation abruptly altered their own vectors, curving upward to avoid the firing envelope of the battleship and cross above the gas giant. As they cleared the gas giant, one more light cruiser and another HuK lurched away from their comrades, leaving the formation down to one light cruiser and two HuKs, which seemed to be aiming toward Kane. “Second planet,” Marphissa predicted. “That will be their objective.”

  “Why run back there?” Iceni asked.

  “Because there are probably some high-ranking snakes on that planet who are going to want to be evacuated. Comms, see if we can get into contact with any of those light cruisers or HuKs that left their formation. Are we to continue toward the battleship, Madam President?”

  “Yes. Make sure the light cruiser and HuK picking up the escape pods are ready for anything. I want to know who is really in those escape pods. If they’re occupied by snakes, those snakes may be armed.” She turned to look at Rogero’s view, seeing the still-sealed bridge hatch. “Colonel, status report.”

  “We found the sabotage to the fuel-cell-feed system. If we’d tried to move the battleship it would have blown its own butt off, if you’ll pardon the phrase.”

  “But it’s not a danger now?”

  “There’s no imminent threat of the battleship’s blowing up, Madam President. But we don’t have control because the bridge is still sealed against us. They won’t open up for me. They think it’s a snake trick. They know you from your transmission, and say if you show up they’ll know we’ve really cleaned out the snakes and it’s safe to open up.”

  That was annoying, but . . . “Is it safe for me to come aboard?”

  “Not entirely. The internal monitoring system is a mess, and what does work runs through the bridge. But if there are any snakes still lurking in the underbrush, we will be able to protect you from them.”

  “All right. We’ll bring C-448 to a relative stop near the battleship and have a shuttle take me over to you.”

  * * *

  IT was very hard to believe that the danger was over. The other flotilla had been defeated, most of its units refusing to fight her anymore as their surviving officers and crews sent out feelers to discover what Iceni intended here at Kane. She would have to let Marphissa handle those for a little while because it was more important to get the bridge on the battleship opened up.

  Iceni walked from the shuttle, through the air lock, and onto the decks of the battleship. Her battleship. The shuttle dock on board wasn’t functional yet, so access tubes and air locks would have to do. As warships went, the battleship was a bit of a fixer-upper, but as warships went, it was also the finest defensive unit she could hope for.

  Colonel Rogero was waiting for her, standing and looking down the passageway toward her as she walked out of the air lock and turned to face him. He began to salute, then his weapon came up and he fired.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ICENI thought that her heart had stopped, only slowly realizing that Rogero had only fired once and that the shot had gone past her. She turned her head, seeing a snake still standing several meters behind her, swaying, a large hole in his chest. The snake’s weapon fell from hands that had lost life and strength, then he collapsed to the deck.

  Rogero jogged past her to examine the snake and confirm that he was dead.

  She swallowed, her heart pounding back into life. “I thought you said your soldiers would provide security for my visit to this unit, Colonel Rogero.”

  “I have guards posted—”

  “Then whichever guard is posted on that hallway is either already dead or soon will be—”

  “Madam President.” Rogero’s voice halted her in midsentencing to a firing squad. “I left that passageway unguarded.”

  She could either order him shot immediately or learn Rogero’s reasons. “Why?” Iceni asked with what she thought was admirable control.

  “Because we knew that the snakes had seeded this unit with surveillance gear, but we couldn’t find all of it in the time we’ve had to work. Any surviving snakes would have known where I had guards on watch, would have known a shuttle was coming in, implying that a VIP was on the way, and would have seen that passageway unwatched. We also know these snakes had been conditioned to fight to the death rather than surrender. A surviving snake, seeing a path ‘accidentally’ left open, would have taken the opportunity to get the VIP using that opening rather than risk an ambush later on, an ambush that could have come at us at any time, from any direction.”

  “And just how did this contribute to my security, Colonel Rogero?”

  “It meant I knew exactly where and when to watch for anyone trying to attack you, Madam President.”

  She stared at Rogero, still angry but realizing the logic of what he had done. “Very good. Don’t do that again.”

  “Yes, Madam President.”

  “Is that the sort of thing that General Drakon rewards in his subordinates?”

  “Yes, Madam President.”

  “I am different, Colonel Rogero. You’d be advised not to forget that. Lead me to the bridge.”

  The short passageway in front of the bridge hatch felt menacing to Iceni as she walked partway down it, knowing that the eyes of the surviving crew on the bridge, and any surviving internal defenses, were focused on her. “This is President Iceni. This mobile forces unit is now under the control of the forces of the independent star system of Midway. I promise you safety. Now open up for us.”

  The wait that followed seemed far too long. She was wondering if she should say more when Iceni heard gears hum into life and the soft hiss of massive bolts being withdrawn. There came a thunk, then the hatch swung inward with the ponderous movements of something that carried a lot of mass.

  Iceni walked forward as Colonel Rogero and the nearby soldiers followed.

  The bridge didn’t smell too good, which wasn’t surprising since its life support had been running on emergency local isolation mode for some time and the crew members inside the bridge clearly didn’t smell too good, either. Sub-Executive Kontos was forming the survivors on the bridge into two short ranks facing the entrance.

  As Iceni halted, Kontos turned, the movement causing him to stagger dizzily against the nearest equipment. She waited while he straightened and saluted with an arm that wavered before Kontos’s fist hit his breast. “Sub-Executive Kontos, acting commanding officer of the outfitting crew on B-78.”

  Iceni returned the salute with a solemn expression, seeing how the line workers standing in ranks swayed on their feet, their gaunt faces reflecting deprivation. “You’ve been on short rations?”

  “The emergency supplies were not yet fully stocked since the unit is not operational,” Kontos replied in a clear, strong voice. “We have rationed supplies as necessary to hold our position until relieved.” Then he fell sideways again against another console and struggled to stand up.

  “Everyone relax,” Iceni ordered. “Including you, Sub-Executive Kontos. Sit down, lie down, whatever you need. Colonel Rogero, get food and water up here. Kommodor Marphissa, do we still have a link?”

  “Yes, Madam President.”

  “Get that shuttle back to you. I want C-448’s physician and her assistant on this ba
ttleship as soon as possible. These crew members need attention. I don’t know what medical supplies are aboard this unit, so make sure she brings an emergency field pack.”

  Rogero, who had finally opened his armor’s face shield, knelt to help Kontos sit back against a console. Straightening up again, he came to stand by Iceni and speak in a low voice. “He held them together. They’ve been slowly starving in here, isolated with no comms except when they managed to get around the snake blocks for brief periods, but he kept them from giving in. Pretty impressive for a junior subexecutive.”

  “Do you think that I’d judge him harshly because he collapsed?”

  “He is not at his best now,” Rogero said diplomatically.

  “I can tell when someone has taken himself to the limit, Colonel Rogero, and I realize what it must have required to keep the rest of the crew effectively resisting.” Iceni nodded as she looked at Kontos where he sat slackly against the console. “If Sub-Executive Kontos wishes to remain with us, he will be more than welcome as one of our mobile forces officers.”

  Rogero smiled. “I was going to say that if you didn’t want him, I was certain that General Drakon would.”

  “Too bad. I’ve got dibs on him, Colonel.”

  “You’re already getting the battleship, Madam President.”

  Iceni stared at him. Rogero had a sense of humor. Who would have thought it? “I heard that one of your soldiers was injured.”

  “Wounded. Not seriously. The snakes were equipped to slaughter unprepared mobile forces crew members, not to fight combat-armored troops.”

  “How very unfortunate for them.”

  “President Iceni?”

  “Yes, Kommodor.”

  “Light cruiser CL-924 has picked up the first escape pod from the heavy cruiser. They confirm that the occupants are crew, not snakes.”

  Iceni fought down a sense of relief as suspicion rose in counterpoint to it. “They have identification as crew members or they are crew members?”

  “They are, Madam President. I sent their images around the flotilla, and one of them is known to someone on C-413.”

  “Good.” Iceni looked at the exhausted survivors of the outfitting crew around her as some soldiers arrived bearing ration packs. “Get that doctor over here.”

  * * *

  SHE spent a while touring the battleship under the watchful eyes of two of Rogero’s soldiers, who were along just in case any more snakes were lurking in the tremendous number of compartments and passageways inside the ship. The fire-control citadel and the engineering control citadel both had fewer survivors in them than the bridge had, but the crew there reported that Sub-Executive Kontos had managed to stay in communication with them despite snake efforts to break the links.

  There was considerable irony in that, Iceni realized. The citadels existed because of fear the line workers in the crew might mutiny, or that the ship would be boarded by Alliance Marines. The citadels were designed and intended as places where the officers and ISS agents could hold out for a long time until the unit could be retaken by Syndicate forces. But the measures intended to make certain of Syndicate control had instead been used to save a good portion of the outfitting crew from the snakes and had ensured that Iceni could wrest control of the battleship from the Syndicate Worlds.

  “Madam President, Colonel Rogero asked us to inform you that the crew members from the bridge have been taken to the main sick bay. It’s not fully outfitted, but the beds are in, and some of the equipment is working.”

  “Take me there.”

  The sick bay was far larger than it felt since the extensive wards and operating rooms were all divided at regular intervals by bulkheads intended to ensure that no single large compartment could be lost to damage or lose air pressure all at once. Like all battleships and battle cruisers, this ship was designed to deal with wounded from not just its own crew but the crews of any smaller escorts, ground forces, and anyone else.

  At the moment, most of those half-equipped wards and rooms were silent and empty. The surviving members of the outfitting crew were almost all in a few wards, with just one representative of their teams remaining in each of the citadel locations. “Where is Sub-Executive Kontos?” Iceni asked Rogero when she saw him.

  “He insisted on remaining on the bridge until properly relieved. The physician has been to see him, and I’ve made sure he’s got food and water.” Rogero gave her a questioning look. “Are you still sure that you want him?”

  “Positive. Who’s the senior surviving crew member in here?”

  “Probably this one.” Colonel Rogero led the way, his combat armor large and more menacing than usual in the environment of the sick bay, stopping at a bed holding a middle-aged man in a line worker’s uniform. “The food and water, and some meds your physician dealt out, have them all half-conscious right now.”

  “I know how to wake him.” The man lay flat, breathing heavily, his eyes on the ceiling but dazed and out of focus. Iceni came to a stop right by the bed. “You,” she said, giving the single word an intonation that only CEOs used, making of it the shorthand question that every worker knew had to be answered quickly and accurately. Who are you, what is your job title, and what are you doing?

  Reflexes drilled into the worker by a lifetime of experience jolted him into awareness. The eyes snapped into focus and went to her face. “Senior Line Worker Mentasa, systems integration, assigned to the outfitting crew for Mobile Unit B-78.” He struggled to sit up until Iceni reached out one hand and gently pushed him back.

  “Rest,” Iceni said. “What can you tell me about what happened aboard this unit?”

  The line worker blinked as if unable to order his thoughts and confused by Iceni’s actions, then nodded slowly. “We were working . . . our usual shifts. Our commander was . . . Sub-CEO Tanshivan. He was . . . what . . . supply ship. The supply ship. Priority delivery.” Mentasa blinked again. “The sub-CEO . . . went to meet it. We were in . . . in comms with him. Lots of people came out of the lock. Lots. Weapons. Sub-CEO yells ‘They’re here to kill us.’ Don’t know how he knew. Yelled it. ‘Seal citadels’ he ordered. And then . . . and then . . . he died. I mean . . . they shot. And . . . we lost comms.”

  “You had no warning the snakes were coming? No reasons to think they might come?”

  “No. Been . . . demonstar . . . demonstrations on the planet. Heard about that. Big rallies. Before the news feeds cut off. Not our business. Not sure what it was about. I never been here before. To Kane, I mean. A few days later . . . they came.”

  “So you sealed the citadels?”

  “Yes.” Line Worker Mentasa blinked back tears. “Not everybody inside. Just our shift. But . . . had to seal the citadels. Damned snakes . . . killed the rest. Then tried to get us to open up. Stupid. Killed their hostages. Stupid, damned snakes.”

  Rogero was nodding. “Their plan counted on surprise. The warning provided by the sub-CEO before he died helped negate that, but the snakes rigidly followed the same plan, killing all members of the outfitting crew as they encountered them. Only when they realized that the citadels had been sealed and couldn’t be broken into with what they had did the snakes understand that they should have kept some hostages alive to force the ones in the citadels to open up.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mentasa said, peering at Rogero. “Sorry we wouldn’t open for you. We knew the lady, the . . . the CEO would save us.”

  Iceni shook her head, angry and not certain exactly why. “I’m not a CEO. I am President Iceni.”

  “I’m sorry, Madam . . . President? I don’t know what a president is.”

  “Better than a CEO,” Rogero replied.

  “Uh, yes, sir. We saw the ship coming. The freighter. We had enough opticals working to see it come around the planet. We knew it had to have more snakes on it. And then you guys . . . you came around
behind it and . . . and we knew the stars would save us—” Mentasa stopped speaking, his eyes widening in alarm.

  Iceni smiled down at him. “Relax,” she repeated. “I’m not afraid of your beliefs, and the rules of the Syndicate Worlds no longer apply where I am in control. If you want to speak of things like that, you can.”

  “Do you believe in the stars? In the ancestors?”

  That was a question she had never expected to be asked, and it startled an honest reply out of her. “I don’t . . . Yes.”

  “Because,” Mentasa continued, his voice firming, “we saw that freighter coming. One more hour and they would have been here and we would have been dead. One more hour. Maybe half an hour. Maybe less. But you came. The stars wouldn’t let us die.”

  Iceni gazed back wordlessly. Then why didn’t they save your comrades? The ones outside the citadels? Show me some reason in who lives and who dies. Why can’t the stars do that? It would be much easier to hold to the faith of my father if they would. “Where are you from?”

  “I’ve been working in Taroa for about fifteen years now. Got a family there.” Wariness had returned to the worker’s eyes. CEOs had a tendency to draft workers they needed, and he must know that Iceni needed him to help get this battleship operational.

  “You and the other survivors of the outfitting crew will be offered the chance to remain on this battleship and come with us,” Iceni said. “Or you can take your chances here at Kane. If you come with us, you’ll be allowed to continue on to Taroa if you want, but we’ll offer good wages for you, and safety for your family from the snakes.” Does this man know what is going on at Taroa? Almost certainly not, and there seems no purpose in bringing it up right now. “Once you’ve recovered somewhat, we’ll ask you what your choice is.”