Starcruiser Polaris: Blood of Patriots

by Richard Tongue

   “Three minutes to gravitational threshold,” Norton said, looking over her controls. “We've still got to get past the two remaining cruisers before we can escape the system.” Tapping a button, she added, “We're well clear of the remains of Borealis now, though.”

   “Fourteen-to-one,” Cordova said.

   “What?” Curtis asked.

   “When we first met, you complained that the odds of victory were fifteen-to-one. We've only just started, and already you've managed to shorten them. Pretty good start as far as I'm concerned.”

   “Damn,” Rojek said, rushing back to Tactical. “Major, can you ride communications for a while. I can't man both stations at once.”

   “On it,” she replied, sliding into position.

   “Picking up new sources of gravitational disruption, Commander,” Strickland said. “Close to us. Maybe twenty thousand miles from the Federation ships. Major surge, best guess, multiple ships in formation.”

   “More guests for the party,” Curtis mused. “We're running out of table settings. Major, hail those new ships as soon as they arrive. I think I can guess what they're going to have to say, but we've had enough surprises today that I want to make sure. Rojek, have a word with Moretti, be nice, but ask if there is any way she can scrape up some more speed. Sacrifice everything other than the Tau Drive. We're not going to fight our way out of this system, but if we move fast enough, we might not have to.”

   “On it,” he replied, “but don't get your hopes up, sir.”

   “I wasn't planning to,” Curtis said with a smile. A cascade of blue light burst onto the fringes of the sensor display, space snapping back into position as a multiple-ship warp field dissolved, leaving a trio of vessels on an intercept course, each with the crescent curves of Commonwealth capital ships, forces that hadn't been seen outside their own territory for years.

   As the door at the rear of the bridge opened, Kani, Voronova and Montgomery stepping across the threshold, Cordova turned from her station and said, “You have someone called Commodore McKinnon wanting to speak to you, Commander. By name.”

   “I see you made sure your superiors were well-informed, Squadron Leader,” Curtis replied. “What are the Federation ships doing, Strickland?”

   “Holding course for the present, sir.”

   “I'd love to see what was happening on Cygnus' command deck,” Norton said.

   “Put McKinnon through, Major. Let's see what she wants. And Norton, tweak our course. Aim us towards the Commonwealth flotilla. Even if it means putting ourselves in firing range.”

   The tactical view flickered off the screen, replaced with an image that could have come from a museum, an aristocratic woman sitting at the heart of a bustling bridge, technicians scurrying around, a hive of activity. Stark contrast to Polaris' near deserted command deck, more than half the stations unmanned for want of personnel to operate them.

   “Squadron Leader Kani,” she said, looking over Curtis' shoulder. “When did...”

   “This wasn't his work, Commodore,” Curtis replied. “The only thing he is guilty of is obeying your orders to the letter, and stepping into a little trap of my own manufacture. If you've got a pitch, go ahead and make it. But I'd make it fast, because in about two minutes, we're going to be in the middle of a firefight.”

   “I'll come straight to the point. The Commonwealth wants that ship. We need it, very badly. I suspect Squadron Leader Kani has made that clear. I'm willing to offer sanctuary for you and your crew, and assistance in the current firefight. We'll get you to safety. I think I'm probably also able to offer all of you positions of importance in our fleet. You've certainly proved you can handle it.”

   “About fifteen minutes ago, Commodore, I told your Federation counterpart that I would never surrender this ship to an enemy. I have to admit that you've offered a lot more than he did, but my answer unfortunately must remain the ship. Polaris is the flagship of the Democratic Underground, and it's got better things to do than serve as a spare parts repository for a collection of superannuated cruisers. I take it your orders don't give you the option of joining forces with us?”

   “In fact, they specifically exclude that option, Commander.” McKinnon looked pained, finally saying, “I am, however, authorized to use whatever force is necessary to secure that ship. Don't make me do something we both regret.”

   “I think Commander Armstrong might have something to say about that, Commodore. Have a good fight. Out.” As the screen faded, Curtis rose from his chair, walking down to Norton, saying, “Roxy, I need you to plot a course directly between the two flotillas, one that will put us within firing range of both ships.”

   “What?” she asked.

   “Ever heard of a crossfire?” he replied. “Be ready with some fancy evasive action at the last minute, and work with whatever defensive batteries we've got left. Polaris is still a tough old girl. She can take a few hits if she has to. I didn't really expect that we'd get out of the system completely unscathed.” Turning to Kani, he said, “Squadron Leader, I would strongly recommend that you remain on Polaris, but if you want to take a shuttle over to one of your ships...”

   “Under the circumstances, sir, I think you're right. Even I couldn't fight my way through the hellstorm you're about to unleash on us.” He glanced at Voronova, and added, “I have a feeling I wouldn't have much company on that shuttle in any case.”

   “Defensive Turrets Four, Twelve and Eighteen are ready, Teddy,” Rojek said. “All along our topside. I figured we'd one the ones with maximum potential radius of action, but they'll be overwhelmed in the first few seconds if we take the course you're planning.”

   “I'm on it,” Norton replied. “Adjusting trajectory. I can make use of what we have, I think.” Turning to Curtis, she added, “I've never done this before, Commander.”

   “First time for everything.”

   Polaris dived into the heart of the enemy ships, the two formations now closing on each other, vultures fighting over the same desperate prize. McKinnon's squadron moved more tentatively, the Federation forces either less aware of the danger they were facing or unable to contravene their orders. Cygnus was closer to the action that Arcturus was, the glory-seeking Armstrong probably having greedy thoughts of seizing Polaris and destroying a Commonwealth ship at the same time, renewing the war that had sputtered to a halt fifty years before.

   “Thirty seconds to first firing range, Commander,” Montgomery said, taking one of the vacant sensor positions. Voronova, without waiting to be asked, settled in next to Rojek at Tactical, looking up at the banks of defensive turrets, a haze of amber and red lights that bode poorly for their point-defense salvo. Curtis walked back to his command chair, settling into place with what he hoped was a reassuring air, looking benignly out at the tactical display in a desperate attempt to hide the nerves he was feeling.

   They were so damned close. Less than three minutes before they would be out of the system, heading to a location of relative safety. Only four people had known the location of their target star, and all of them were safe and on the bridge. Hunter had been arrogant enough, confident that she would trap them here, that she'd failed to properly interrogate Cordova when she had the chance.

   “Ten seconds, sir,” Norton said.

   “Lot of turrets aiming at us, Commander,” Strickland added. “The Federation fighter complement is coming around. If we're still in-system in the next six minutes, we're going to have problems.”

   “I think they're aiming for the Commonwealth flotilla, Spaceman,” Curtis replied. “The opening battle of the Second Federation-Commonwealth War, and we're going to miss all the fun. Though I think we can live with it. Hang on, everyone.”

   “Threat warning!” Rojek said, and five ships opened up, ten thousand kinetic projectiles racing through space, Norton desperately playing Polaris' thrusters in a bid to keep them out of the way, rolling to target the point-defense
batteries where they could do the most good. Curtis watched the neophyte helmsman with increasing admiration. For someone who'd flown nothing but tankers, she was proving to be a natural at the helm. Though she'd squeezed a few miracles out of the late Hanoi during his time in command. Giving her something to work with that had real acceleration, military-grade thrusters, was a treat for her to savor, and she was taking full advantage of it.

   A rattle echoed from the hull, and Montgomery cursed, turning to Curtis and saying, “Impacts, sir. After section. Long-range sensor array and secondary crew quarters.”

   “We'll fix the damage when we get clear of the system,” Curtis replied, stabbing a control. “Moretti, I need more power, on the double!”

   “There's none to give you, Commander. I push this ship any harder in her current condition and I'll blow every relay on ten decks.” She paused, then added, “And stop those bastards punching any more holes in my ship! I'm having a hard enough time keeping her flying as it is!”

   “Helm, alter course towards the Federation ships,” Curtis said. “Those Commonwealths are getting more hits in.”

   “Our people know what they're doing,” Kani replied with a smile.

   Polaris swung to the side, Norton finding more acceleration from some buried part of the power network, easing her a little faster, engines burning hotter in a desperate race. The rattling along the ship eased, the Federation ships struggling to maintain the firing rate. As Polaris swept by, her sensors caught a look at the flanks of the two ships, and Curtis could understand why. Both were burnt, pitted, breaches in a dozen places, scarring all along the hull.

   “When Borealis went…,” Rojek said.

   “Congratulations, Commander,” Cordova replied. “You've started the Second Revolution with one hell of a bang. They'll be signing songs about this for generations.”

   “As long as I'm around for the premiere, I'll be happy,” Curtis replied.

   “One minute to threshold,” Norton asked.

   “Cygnus is turning, sir,” Strickland said, “Trying to maximize their firing rate on us.”

   “He's out of his mind!” Voronova said. “He's left his ship wide open to Achilles!”

   The Commonwealth commander saw the gap, and ruthlessly exploited it, unleashing a dozen rapid bursts of fire on the enemy ship, fighters racing from launch tubes on attack runs, McKinnon evidently deciding that she had an opportunity to deal serious damage to the hated Federation, and that Polaris was now a secondary objective.

   “Arcturus is turning away,” Strickland said, shaking her head. “So is the Commonwealth squadron. They're opening up on each other. It worked!”

   Nodding with satisfaction, Curtis replied, “The only way to defeat a superior force is to turn it against itself. Which is why judo was mandatory at the Academy. Proceed to the threshold, Norton, best speed. Damage control teams report to the bridge.” He paused, turned, and said, “Major, please send to Commander Armstrong and Commodore McKinnon my hopes that they have a long and glorious battle. The more chunks they smash out of each other, the better the odds we face.”

   “Aye, sir,” she replied, a smile on her face.

   “Tau Drive threshold in twenty seconds. All decks secure for dimensional transition.” Norton held her breath, as though waiting for something to go wrong, some unseen enemy to leap out at them, knock them from the sky at the final minute. Her hands moved across the controls, and the starfield shifted to deep red, the dimensional bubble forming as the drive burst into life, sweeping them from the system at hyperluminal velocity, leaving the two enemy fleets to fight it out for control of a now-worthless system.

   “Transition successful, sir,” Norton said.

   “My God,” Montgomery added. “We made it.”

   “Of course we did, Monty,” Curtis replied, turning to the young technician. “I never had a moment's doubt.”

   “Liar,” Rojek replied.

   “Maybe a second or two,” Curtis said. “Major, could you please connect me through to the entire ship?”

   “You're on, Commander,” she replied, the smile still fixed on her face. Everyone on the bridge was dazed, as though unable to comprehend that they'd beaten the odds, that Polaris was theirs, that the rebellion they had dreamed off all of their lives was finally in progress.

   “This is Commander Curtis,” he begin. “Today we've won the first battle of the Second Revolution. We've proven to the enemy that we are a force to be reckoned with, and we have already done some serious damage to both the Federation and Commonwealth fleets. Nevertheless, we have only won a single battle. The war is just beginning. It will be long, it will be arduous, it will be bloody, and many of us will not live to see it concluded.”

   “But with this ship, and this crew at the forefront of the battle, I have every confidence that we shall attain the final victory. That we shall free our worlds from the oppression of the Federation, liberate the Colonies and restore the freedom that our ancestors fought for. I am proud to serve with each and every one of you. Today, my friends, today we rise. And nobody is going to stop us. Not this time.” Turning to Norton, he said, “Maintain current course, Lieutenant. We'll rearm, refuel, patch our wounds, and then we'll be heading back into the fight.”

   He looked around his ship, a beaming smile on his face. At last, he'd come home.

  Epilogue

   The streets of New Chicago were a dangerous place to walk without a bodyguard, even this close to Fleet Headquarters. There was a chill in the air, winter coming early, snow scattered on the streets as undernourished figures slouched on their own petty errands, most of them illegal, the constant watchful gaze of the monitoring cameras beaming down upon them.

   Two men walked together, both wearing the uniform of the Federation Fleet, pistols at their belt, earning looks ranging from fear to hatred from the huddled masses on the streets, long lines waiting to receive their daily ration, black-uniformed operatives of the Political Directorate with sonic shotguns nestled in their arms, ready to restore order should it be needed.

   There was a reason that the Fleet usually conducted its business away from Earth. Gagarin Station, orbiting Luna, was the home of all but an unfortunate few, others scattered around the near colonies, at Sentinel Station, Caledonia Colony and a dozen other places. The heart of the Federation remained on Earth, though, and the Political Directorate liked to make it clear to new commanding officers where they loyalties lie, and the fate that might await them if they chose to disobey, or even fail. Half a dozen senior officers had been dismissed from their posts in the last twenty-four hours, they and their families dumped onto the street to survive as best they could. Others had 'retired', though somehow it was obvious that they wouldn't be collecting their pension.

   It had gotten worse over the last few years. There was no doubt of that. And yet, there didn't seem to be any other choice. Anarchy if the people ever managed to bring down the government, a worse tyranny should the Hundred Families of the Commonwealth, the despised Council, ever manage to reclaim their homeworld. And given the rumors flooding the Fleet about a recent battle on the border, one that had ended with a Starcruiser destroyed and two others badly damaged, that day might be closer than it had initially appeared.

   The honor guard snapped to attention as the two officers, a Commander and a Lieutenant, walked up the steps to the door, sliding their identification cards into the slot as they approached, a battery of biometric sensors scanning them to make sure they were who they purported to be. Terran Security had reported an increase in crime in recent weeks, petty acts of vandalism and sabotage, though it seemed hard to consider that the center of the Federation's military strength could ever come under serious threat.

   The two men walked through the concourse, officers and guards looking up as they strode past, moving into the waiting elevator. As the doors slammed shut, the younger of the two, wearing the three bars of Commander, shed his
coat, draping it over his arm.

   “They keep the heating turned up to damned high in here, Sam.”

   His companion, a balding, slightly portly Lieutenant, replied, “They've got power to burn, buddy. I guess they like showing off.”

   “That's Commander buddy now, old friend, and don't you forget it.”

   “Hell, Bob, I don't want your job. I've got more than enough responsibility now.” He paused, then said, “You heard about Armstrong?”

   “If you paid less attention to the grapevine and more to...”

   “Executed. At Proxima. For treason. I got that from Val Carter, direct. Apparently he was commanding the task force during the Battle of Struve 2398. And Val saw the two ships when they limped back in. They're scavenging half the local stations to get them back to full strength, lots of shipyard time stolen to fix them up. All hell's breaking loose on the frontier.”

   The doors slid open, an impeccably uniformed Lieutenant standing at the threshold, fixed smile on her face. She held out an arm for their coats, carefully placing them on a wall rack, and stepped forward to the double doors at the far end of the room. She lightly tapped an intercom, muttering barely intelligible words into the speaker, then turned back to them.

   “The Admiral will see you now, gentlemen.”

   “Thank you, Lieutenant,” the Commander replied, leading the way into the stark, spartan office beyond, the only decoration a picture of a smiling family on one wall and the rich crimson-and-gold Federation flag on the other. Admiral Yoshida sat at his desk, barely looking up at their approach, gesturing for them to take their seats. After a moment, he looked up, sitting back in his chair and rubbing a weary hand across his forehead.

   “We'll have to make this short, gentlemen, but I imagine you'll both be keen to proceed when you hear what I have to say. The rumors you've heard are true. And then some. We have fought a pitched battle with Commonwealth forces, and at best, we can only claim a stalemate. Both surviving ships are on their way for extended repair under new commanding officers.” Looking at the Commander, he added, “Of even greater significance is the reason for the battle.” He tapped a control, and an image of a Starcruiser appeared over the desk, slowly rotating.