Starship Liberator

by B. V. Larson

  Braga said, “Operations, pass to the fleet to begin retrograde on my order. Plot a course that will take us out to the ambush point, with initial hard acceleration to take us some distance from the planetary fleet. They’ll undoubtedly pursue us, so I want to get the jump on them. Keep our external railguns aimed rearward, as if we’re merely holding them ready.”

  “Yes, sir.” Verdura and Braga’s operations officers began passing orders.

  “Zaxby, the enemy will likely follow us. In fact, I want them to follow us. As soon as we withdraw out of range, they’ll stop evading and their courses should steady in pursuit. When that happens, take your best guess and fire a full spread of mines into their path.”

  “With exceptional pleasure, sir.”

  “The fleet is ready, admiral,” said the operations officer.

  “Execute.”

  Braga kept his eyes on his displays as his outnumbered task force abruptly stopped sniping and turned away. To the Hok, it would appear exactly like what it was: a sudden attempt to break contact and run. Within moments, the alien commander would deduce his strategy: that Braga was attempting to combine with Downey’s incoming fleet.

  The Hok should know they’d won, at least in Corinth’s orbital region. Braga hoped that would make them complacent, confident of their advantage. But they would still have to pursue him quickly or risk getting beat by a superior force at the ambush point. After all, the Hok couldn’t know exactly what would be popping out of sidespace. They’d want to maximize their advantage, so they’d hurry after him.

  Braga was counting on it.

  “They’re pursuing us…” Zaxby said, his odd limbs fidgeting.

  “We can see that, Zaxby,” Verdura said.

  “I’m computing trajectories in four dimensions,” Zaxby said. “Did I mention that I have exceptional spatial acuity, a benefit of my primitive ancestors living amphibiously in a three-dimensional semiaquatic environment where they were both predator and prey?”

  “No,” Verdura replied in a weary voice, “you’ve never mentioned that. Not in the last hour, anyway.”

  “Launching mines. My software also reduces the firing signature of the railgun in order not to tip off the enemy to what we are doing.”

  “Very good, Mister Zaxby,” Admiral Braga said. “Can I see the mine cluster as it travels?”

  “I will show its projected location on your displays, though obviously there is no positive telemetry from the weapons themselves.”

  “Obviously. That would rather defeat the stealth factor, hmm?”

  “Absolutely, sir. And may I say, sir, you are grasping these principles better than I expected—for a human.”

  “Oh, Cosmos,” Verdura said, palm to her face. “Sorry, sir.”

  “It’s all right, Captain. I’m actually getting used to him. I believe he means well, even if he is one rude son of a bitch.”

  Chapter 9

  The light infantryman is characterized by his mental resourcefulness and physical toughness…Light infantrymen do not feel defeated when surrounded, isolated or confronted by superior forces. They are able to continue performing their duties and pursue their objectives for long periods of time without any type of comfort or logistical support, usually obtaining what they require from the land or the enemy. They are neither physically nor psychologically tied to the rear by a need to maintain open lines of communication. Their tactics do not depend on supporting arms. This attitude of self-confidence and self-reliance provides light infantry with a psychological advantage over its opponents.

  -The History of Light Infantry; The 4GW Counterforce by William S. Lind and LtCol Gregory A. Thiele, USMC.

  Academy Station. Thirteen years before the Battle of Corinth (2804 A.D., Old Earth reckoning).

  “Cadet Engels!”

  Carla Engels walked rapidly up and halted at attention, facing Lieutenant Yoshida. “Ma’am!”

  “Cadet Straker!” Yoshida pointed at a new boy wearing no hash marks on his collar.

  Engels thought he was young even for a Fourthie. This kid couldn’t be more than thirteen. She figured he had to be one of the new ones they’d been briefed about.

  The cadet raced forward and halted directly in front of the lieutenant. Both Yoshida and Engels were taller than the boy—but no doubt that would change as he grew to his full height.

  “Cadet Straker reports as ordered, ma’am!” he said, snapping a surprisingly sharp salute.

  Yoshida stared coldly at Straker. “One demerit, Mister Straker: improper reporting procedure. One demerit for double-timing. This is an academic zone, not a training zone. An officer only needs to be told something once, and you were told about these things at least twice during your trip here. Don’t make such mistakes again.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “One more demerit,” Yoshida said coldly. “I gave you an instruction. You will answer ‘aye aye’ or ‘roger wilco’ to acknowledge your compliance with instructions. ‘Yes’ and ‘no’ are answers to questions. Do you understand?”

  “Aye—ah, yes, ma’am.”

  Yoshida indicated Engels. “This is Cadet Second Class Engels. She is your assigned Upper-Class Sponsor, your UCS. If you need to know something relating to Academy and its procedures, or if you piss yourself in the middle of the night and you’re missing your mommy, or even if you’re thinking about walking out an airlock because this training is just too hard, you will not bother another staff member with your trivial requests. You will see Cadet Second Engels, and she will handle it. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Dismissed.”

  “Follow me, Cadet Straker,” Engels said. She performed an about-face and strode off, not looking to see if the boy would follow. Footsteps behind her and her superb peripheral vision confirmed he’d positioned himself properly to her left and half a pace back.

  She led him to an unused classroom and sat down. Straker remained standing at attention. Engels nodded in approval. “At ease, Mister Straker. Take a seat.”

  He sat down across the table from her and waited.

  “You’re a physical?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Don’t call me ‘ma’am.’ You call me ‘Cadet’ in formal situations, but this isn’t one of them. We’re still in the academic zone.”

  “Okay.”

  “That’s too informal. You’re not a civilian anymore.”

  “Then what do I say?”

  “Call me Miss Engels.”

  “Everything’s so confusing…”

  Engels offered him a slight smile. “You’ll figure it out. It’s part of the fun.”

  “I’ll get demerits,” he said.

  “You’re a plebe, a rat, not even a Fourthie yet, Straker. That means demerits will pile so high you’ll never have privileges. Not until you make Third, anyway. That’s the way it works. The system is rigged. Get used to it. How old are you, anyway?”

  “Thirteen last month.”

  “We’ve never started cadets so young before.”

  “I lived on Oceanus. My family was killed. So were a bunch of others at my school. The Hok targeted us Specials. Tried to take us out with spikes.”

  Engels raised her eyebrows. “I heard about the raid. You believe they tried to take you out, or you know they did?”

  “I—I believe it. Only certain houses got spiked, mostly ones with my friends. More than eighty percent of my class died. I’m supposed to be a mechsuiter. It makes sense they would try to kill us before we get trained.”

  “Well, Intelligence thinks the same as you do. A mechsuiter, huh? I’m on the pilot track.”

  Straker raised his eyes to hers. “Oh, you’re a physical too?”

  He’d been visibly struggling not to stare at her chest. For her part, she wasn’t overly bothered, considering her slight breasts to be anything but her greatest asset. Engels was tall and rangy—leggy and athletic.

  “Yes,” she answered. “Why are you surprised?”
>
  “I guess because all the girls in my school were brainiacs, and younger than me. The physicals were all boys.”

  “Never heard of a school like that before.”

  Straker shrugged. “That’s how they did it.”

  “Maybe it was an experiment.”

  “How old are you, anyway, um, Cadet Engels?” the boy asked.

  “Sixteen. And you’d better stop drooling over my tits. If the officers see that, you’ll be walking tours until midnight.”

  The boy blushed and lowered his eyes. “Sorry, Miss Engels.”

  Engels waved his apology away and suppressed a grin. “You’ll get it.”

  Straker raised his eyes to hers. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “I’m not. It only seems that way in contrast to the staff. Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m a soft touch. Come find me if you need me, but it’d better be important. I’ve got my own workload. Remember, upperclassmen can give out demerits too, and some of them are worse than the officers.” Engels stood. “Dismissed.”

  * * *

  It was all Derek could do to keep from looking back over his shoulder at Miss Engels. She was… she was… he had no words for what she was. Stronger, older, more confident, completely different from the brainiac girls he’d grown up with, who were always younger, and none of them had curves. And she was a physical, like him!

  His mouth became dry and his heart pounded just thinking about her. More even than the faculty and staff, he wanted to please her, to make her proud of him, to earn her respect. And he wanted to look at her body for hours and hours…

  He stopped short in the middle of the passageway. What the hell was wrong with him? The sexuality classes back at the school had talked about attraction and reproduction and how people did it, but it had all been clinical, even kind of disgusting. Now, for the first time in his life, Derek could imagine wanting to be naked with a girl, wanting to do the sex thing.

  “Plebe, what the hell’s wrong with you! Brace the wall, you stupid rat! Make a hole!”

  Derek slammed himself against the nearest wall to let the officer pass. “Sir, yes, sir!”

  The young man didn’t pass, though, but stopped to lean down and put his nose two inches from Derek’s. “Don’t make a sir-sandwich out of me, scumbag! One demerit for that, one for failing to respond with ‘aye aye’ to an instruction, and one more just because you’re the scrawniest, ugliest, stupidest rat I’ve ever seen in my life!”

  Derek realized the person yelling at him wasn’t even an officer. Rather, he was an upperclassman, a Cadet First, which meant Derek wasn’t required to brace the wall, merely to stay as far to the right as practical when passing. The First’s name tag read Skorza.

  “Pardon me, Cadet First,” Derek said, slipping out and continuing on his way.

  “Get back here, rat!”

  Derek stopped and turned around. “Cadet First, I have to keep to my schedule.” The schedule was sacred, he’d been told. “Failure to repair,” as the military called missing an appointment, was a serious offense.

  “You need to drop and give me fifty pushups, that’s what you need to do, sub-Fourth. Time to get you into shape!”

  Other cadets were gathering around, watching. Some grinned, some looked worried. No officers were in sight.

  Straker considered complying, although upperclassmen had no authority to order pushups, or in fact do anything punitive other than issue demerits. But no, that wouldn’t be right. He’d always been taught to insist on what was right, even if it was hard. Besides, he felt instinctively this was a bully, and he didn’t like bullies. His father had told him to stand up to bullies, though until now that hadn’t been difficult.

  “No, Cadet First,” he said evenly. “You’re not authorized to make me do pushups.”

  Skorza’s face whitened, and his tone turned deceptively conversational. “Everybody does pushups for Firsties. It’s tradition, no matter what the regs say.”

  Straker looked around at the watchers.

  “Eyes front! Stand at attention, rat!”

  Straker did, because that was in the regs. But he still thought he shouldn’t be dancing to this guy’s every tune. “I have to go, Cadet First. Pardon me.”

  Skorza leaned into his face again. “You’ll do as I say! Now drop and give me a hundred! I know you can do it. You’re supposed to be some kind of wonder-boy. Top scores in all physical measures.” His tone turned sneering. “Come on, show us what you can do.”

  “Come on!” cried several cadets gathered around. Others clapped and made encouraging noises.

  He almost did it, but realized at the last moment that this would also be a victory for the bully. “No. I’m sorry, Cadet First, but I have to go.” Derek turned to dodge around Skorza and double-time away.

  “I’m watching you, rat!” The angry, frustrated words floated after him, accompanied by laughter from the cadets nearby.

  The amusement ceased as a lieutenant rounded the corner in front of Derek. This time he braced the wall properly. The officer ignored Derek as he walked by.

  Derek double-timed onward. He thought he’d handled Skorza as well as he could, though he’d been unprepared. He resolved to focus better, not to get confused by the artificial rules, whether written or unwritten, or by the deliberately imposed abnormality of Academy. He brought the image of his smashed home to mind and felt clarity wash over him.

  No matter what the distraction, no matter his body’s lusts or fears, he was here for training and education. Academy wasn’t interested in chickens, or people trying to hook up. It wasn’t as if any sixteen-year-old hottie would even look at a kid like him. And she was a physical, so he couldn’t impress her with his speed and coordination.

  So, he’d have to impress her some other way…

  * * *

  Mechsuiter, mechsuiter, can’t you see?

  This little run ain’t nothin’ to me

  I can run all day, I can run all night

  I can run on through to the morning light

  The chanting formation of two hundred cadets rounded the course’s final hill, running in perfect step to the cadence-caller’s voice, bringing their barracks complex into view. Above them arched the practice fields, ranges, forests and rivers of the inside of the giant cylinder that was the heart of the training complex on Academy.

  Forty kilometers long and ten across, the converted asteroid station spun on its axis to create the effect of gravity, actually centrifugal force, much cheaper and easier than gravplating such an enormous base. Occupying that axis, a thick tube, the spine of the station, held mechanisms to produce sun, rain, clouds, any weather the controllers wished. The structure also contained observation posts, control machinery, glider launch and suit-drop platforms, and zero-G combat gyms. He’d been here only a month and it had become his world.

  “Always nice to get home,” muttered Loco beside him between lines of the song.

  “Ten kilometers every day,” Derek replied.

  “I don’t mind the exercise. It’s just so damn boring—and easy.”

  “Shut your holes, rats!” an upperclassman roared from nearby. Cadet First Skorza, in charge of the road guards, ran over to talk briefly with the speaker. When he jogged away, he had a grin on his face.

  Mechsuiter, mechsuiter, where you been?

  Down in Shangri-La drinkin’ gin

  Whatcha gonna do when you get back?

  Ten more klicks on a running track

  As the runners approached the edge of the barracks, Skorza signaled a left turn with broad waves of his arm. Instead of heading in to the showers, the cadets proceeded past the buildings and down the road, back out into the countryside for another ten-kilometer lap. “You have sub-Fourthies Straker and Paloco’s mouths to thank for this, everyone,” Skorza bellowed. “Be sure to give them your regards.”

  A collective groan, barely suppressed, ran through the training platoons. “Nice job, assholes,” a Thirdie said from behind Der
ek. One cadet kicked him in his thigh. Another punched him in the middle of his back. Loco got similar treatment.

  Whatever. Hazing was a part of paying your dues, and if the Firsties wanted to run their rats some more, they didn’t need a good reason. The rest often fell in line, passing abuse downhill when they had an excuse. The books and vids on leadership talked about modeling good behavior, but most of his classmates seemed powerless to resist modeling the bad too, despite the regulations printed in black and white.

  Derek resolved he’d do it differently. When he moved up, he wouldn’t be an asshole to the rats just because the people before him were assholes. He’d model leadership with respect. He probably couldn’t change anything in the long run, but at least he wouldn’t be a part of the problem.

  Mechsuiter, mechsuiter, have you heard?

  I’m gonna drop from a big-ass bird

  If my jets don’t save my hide

  I’ll be splattered on the countryside

  But for now, getting through every day was challenge enough. He settled down, blanked his mind and let the cadence carry him along.

  Sometime later in the dark of the night, Straker awoke in his bunk to feel himself held down by his blanket, powerless to get out of bed while large, dim figures pummeled his body with their fists and forearms. He curled up to protect his groin. At the end of a solid minute, they left him bruised from calf to neck.

  “Skorza says hello, shitbag,” hissed a voice in his ear. “Hope you enjoyed your blanket party.”

  Then they were gone.

  A groan of pain and anger escaped his throat, but he refused to give in to it. He stumbled to the shower while the other sub-Fourthies in their bunks nearby turned away from him, pretending sleep. The water helped, cool, then hot, but it was all he could do to get through the next day, and the next.

  He didn’t report it, or go to sick call. He could handle his own problems.

  * * *