by B. V. Larson
The man smiled a compact grin. “Oh, very good, ma’am.” His accent made the honorific sound like mom. “We’re a bit bored, but that is the lot of any navy.”
“Are we a navy?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, ma’am. If not a navy, then what?”
“Liberators.”
“Then we are a navy of liberators. Even pirates must have discipline.”
Engels snorted. “But if they do, are they still pirates?”
“This is not for me to say.”
“Chief, I might need that discipline soon.”
“Of course, ma’am.” He cocked his head. “Is there some particular reason?”
“Maybe,” she admitted. “Pass the word to the crew that we’ll be getting underway.”
“Shall we go to battle stations?” Gurung asked.
“No. It will be hours before we’re in even extreme range. In fact, keep all our weapons locked down and unpowered. I want to appear completely nonhostile for now.”
“Very good, ma’am.” Gurung withdrew to the aft of the ship.
Her sensors operator, a rating named Lorton, raised his eyebrows in question.
“You’ll see soon enough,” Engels told him as she set a course and began moving the ship out toward Carson on impellers. As was often the case, cruising at the helm granted her mind time to wander.
In truth, she didn’t want to tip her hand to Gurung or anyone else in case she decided to do the thing she contemplated, a thing that might cross a line in Straker’s mind.
Straker was her commander. She could have insisted on the primacy of her commissioned rank in service of the Hundred Worlds, and he would have acceded, but she knew herself. Despite all her training at Academy, all the theory and the knowledge pumped into her, she didn’t really want to be the top boss with all these subordinates and civilians depending on her.
Like Loco and Gurung and probably most people, she was happy to be a valued officer, to have autonomy and status, with no one lording it over her, content to be the pilot of a ship–the captain even better.
Perhaps she also thought and felt things deeper than those around her. It made her a particular, empathic type of leader, but maybe it precluded her from being another kind—the ruthless kind that was needed at times like these.
Straker, on the other hand, had all the required drive and stubbornness. He exuded certainty in battle—in any crisis. There was a natural ability in the man that allowed him to do what had to be done and not let it affect him.
Yet in their relationship, in their love and lovemaking, he still had a core of hesitancy, of vulnerability, and that reassured her. Despite his harshness, his willingness to annihilate anything in his path, his darkness hadn’t consumed him.
Not yet, anyway. She worried that the more he destroyed on the way to his goals, the easier it would become to see destruction as the first solution instead of the last resort.
The current situation was a case in point. She understood Derek’s reasoning, even agreed with it, but she saw another possibility. It was a long shot, but it might pay off big.
The only question was: would she have to attempt it? Or would she get lucky and not need to?
He’d given her the go-ahead to see if Ellen Gray would defect. That was Engels’ first gamble, and she might as well give it a try. Carson and Liberator were as yet far apart, so distant that even lightspeed transmissions would take over ten minutes to reach the other ship, more than twenty to return an answer. Though every hour of combined travel would knock more than two minutes off that, she might as well get the conversation started.
“Lorton, establish a tightbeam laser comlink with Carson. Use a standard automated hailing protocol, then put me on full vid.” Engels sat up in her chair and put on her most earnest expression.
“Sending, ma’am... Okay, we synched up. You’re on.”
“Hello, Ellen,” Engels said, addressing a vid pickup. “I’m assuming it’s you commanding Carson, the ship I’m aiming this transmission at, since naturally you’re not squawking any IFF. As you can see, it’s Carla Engels here, in command of this stolen Hundred Worlds corvette, which we’ve christened Liberator. By now you know that Captain Straker and I have come back to free the people of Freiheit from Major Ramirez’s abusive tyranny.”
The tiny jewel-like tip of the camera stared at her, and she took a breath before pressing ahead.
“Your first thought is probably that I’m lying,” she said, “because you’ve been told that we planted the bombs that killed the refugees who wanted to defect back to the Mutuality. Well, it’s not true. I’d never be party to such a horror, nor would any of our people. In your heart you must know this is true.
“I figure you know Yates by reputation,” she continued. “It was undoubtedly he that did the dirty work at Ramirez’s orders. I don’t know whether DeChang is in on it, or if he’s only guilty of letting his subordinates run amuck. Either way, it was murder, and I found the evidence. That’s why Ramirez tried to kill us and make it look like an accident, but we got away.”
She leaned back, confident she’d made her case.
“Now,” she said, “we’re back. Even if you stop us from taking Freiheit into sidespace, we have the habitat, and the Unmutuals will never get it back. The people there are sick of the way they’ve been treated. We’ve also brought a regiment of ground troops aboard and enough extra weapons to arm all the locals.” They didn’t really have that many guns, but Engels didn’t mind stretching the truth if it convinced Gray.
“So, you see, you might be able to destroy Freiheit, but you’ll never own it. You simply don’t have the manpower. At best, this will become an ugly intra-system war that will cripple both sides and kill a lot of people, including yours.”
Engels narrowed her brows. “So I’m here to ask you to think about joining us. Or, if you won’t do that, at least let us leave in peace. It’s either lose-lose, or we win. There’s no way for the Unmutuals to come out ahead. The best you can do is cut your losses, because I promise you, we can hurt you badly. Look around your bridge and see which of your friends will die to support a bunch of rapists and murderers.” She folded her hands. “Engels out.”
Then she waited, cracking her knuckles and staring at the glacially moving tactical plot. Warfare at interplanetary scale was always an exercise in slow motion, punctuated by explosive violence as combatants approached each other. So it would be this time around, unless she could head it off.
“Transmission incoming,” Lorton said.
As Engels composed herself again, the main screen dissolved into a picture of a stern older woman with black eyes, full lips and a flat nose, of a type anyone would call handsome rather than beautiful. She had the weary presence of an overworked senior officer, and an anger in her eyes that did not bode well for Engels’ efforts.
“Hello, Carla. I’m sorry to see you in these circumstances. I understand your concerns with the situation on Freiheit. It got out of control, but General DeChang assures me Ramirez will be sanctioned and brought to heel, and that individuals who committed crimes will be punished, up to and including execution if warranted. I trust his word. And Carla, no matter what happened, I’m not going to betray my people, any more than you’re going to betray yours. I guess we’re on opposite sides on this one. Gray out.”
Engels sighed. It looked like there would be no easy solutions, but she might as well continue the dialogue. At least it passed the time, and every answer marked twenty or so minutes off the six hours until Carson might begin bombarding, and off the dozen hours until Liberator might be forced to fight, if the Revenge failed.
“Ellen, I hear you. I think I understand your dilemma. I’m sending you a burst with the record of what happened to the refugees. There are two files. One is the raw data, the other, with annotations. I hope you’ll examine them and draw your own conclusions. If you survive, you’ll have to deal with DeChang, and the evidence of the murder of over four hundred people. Think about that, E
llen. Someone on your side was willing to slaughter a bunch of frightened civilians just to deny the Mutuality their labor—labor that could hardly have affected the course of the war. That’s no different from bombarding population centers… no, it’s even worse, because at least if you obliterate cities, you can tell yourself that you’re doing significant damage to the enemy’s economy. This was pure evil, Ellen. There were children. There were mothers and babies on those ships.”
Engels couldn’t keep her eyes from tearing up. It was so easy to forget those who paid the real price in wars like this. She rubbed her belly, suddenly aware of the possibility of life growing there, someday. Until she and Derek had begun sleeping together, she’d never really thought about motherhood, but now…
“If General DeChang is really a good man as you believe, he’ll understand why you let us go. There’s no logic to bombarding Freiheit. You’d be killing more civilians than combatants, five innocents for every soldier. If you rupture the habitat, you’ll kill everyone. You can’t destroy Freiheit’s impeller; it’s too deep inside, so you can’t stop the habitat from continuing to accelerate in normal space toward the outer reaches of the system. Best case, it will take you years to mount a takeover. In the meantime, Freiheit will end up as a generation ship, traveling toward some far star. Please, Ellen, think about what you’re doing. You believe it’s your duty to follow DeChang. What about your higher duty to humanity? What are we for, if not to protect the civilians? Sheepdogs don’t attack the sheep. If they do, they have to be put down. Dead children won’t care about your abstract principles.”
After the interminable delay, Captain Gray’s face returned to the screen. “I salute you, Carla. You make a persuasive argument. Understand, this isn’t an easy decision for me. I’ve thought, I’ve weighed, and I’ve decided. The evidence you sent didn’t change anything; I’ve already accepted that there’s an ugly rot among Ramirez’s people. Maybe the whole of our ground forces will have to be purged. But that’s only half of the Unmutual movement. Frankly, it’s the lesser half. The greater half includes those of our fleet and the civilians living on our bases.
“Also, I think you paint a rosy picture for yourselves. I don’t judge your chances to be so favorable. I think once all opposition in space is neutralized, I can use surgical strikes to force Freiheit to surrender. I’ll explain the situation to the people there and promise they’ll never have to deal with Ramirez again. At the end of the day, they’ll thank us both for bettering their situation. I’ll get the other ship captains together and insist DeChang remove Ramirez from any position of authority pending a thorough investigation. If she personally ordered or committed crimes, I’ll insist she be punished. So I’ll make you the same offer you made me: give up and join us. Join my fleet and work for me. Between us and your Captain Straker, we can go to the Council of Elders and insist on reforms. We can chalk this up to a family spat among Unmutuals and come out the other end stronger than ever. Come on, Carla. You like to talk about babies. Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater. Gray out.”
Engels sat back and let out a hissing sigh. Gray was formidable, and she’d made some good points. If Engels really believed Gray was a good enough politician to make that kind of play, to set herself against the smooth, confident and well-liked DeChang, she might even try to get Straker to agree.
However, deep in her gut, deep in her bones, Engels didn’t believe it.
First, she didn’t believe Captain Gray was the type to openly risk a split with DeChang—a possible civil war within the ranks of the Unmutuals.
Second, she didn’t believe DeChang was the man he wanted everyone to think he was. He was a little too urbane and condescending—too clever, smug and calculating for her to trust him. Derek and Loco seemed much taken with him, probably as a father figure replacing those they lost when they were young, but she’d never quite bought it. He reminded her too much of the Lazarus clones.
The only question for Engels now was: how far was she willing to step over this line? Was it worth it for a long-shot effort to save Ellen Gray and most of her crew, even while neutralizing her ship?
That was the optimal outcome, anyway. The worst outcome would be allowing Carson to slip by Revenge, thereafter to destroy one or both of Freiheit’s sidespace engines.
Slowly, Engels sat forward and clenched her knotted fingers together. By doing what she contemplated, she was risking her relationship with Derek. Even if he didn’t hate her forever, he would never again see her in the same light.
If it worked, he would forgive her. If it didn’t, he might throw her out of his life, or even his command. Where would she go, what would she do then? The thought of losing Derek and all these people that had become her family over the past months, was excruciating.
Yet, if she was going to stick to her own principles, she had to try.
“Lorton, take a break. Nothing will happen for about four hours. That’s when Captain Straker will hit them with Revenge, just before they’re in extreme bombardment range. When you get back, set up for one more transmission to the Carson.”
Roll the dice, she thought as she stared at the tactical plot. Go big, or go home. Though in this case, home might not even want her anymore.
Chapter 39
Awaiting Carson.
“Plot an underspace run out to M100,” Straker said to his Ruxin crew once he was done talking to Engels. The tactical plot drew his eyes, showing Revenge still hiding behind Freiheit Station.
“Course plotted.”
“Execute.”
“Inserting. Moving toward designated emergence point near M100.”
The chill manifested, and Straker turned on his suit heater to compensate. The Ruxins apparently did something similar, for the vents on the floor began to swirl with warm water, and the bridge filled with a fog that didn’t seem to bother the octopoids.
Six hours was a fair time to be under, though not as long as the trip inward to Freiheit had been, so he had confidence they would make it. Most of the ship’s thrusters had been repaired, though he wondered what other mechanisms on this old vessel might fail.
Straker took the time to try to learn his bridge crew’s names, but the problem was, they all sounded too similar—Froxen, Lixor, Trunix, Roxov, he couldn’t keep them all straight. Eventually he told them he would address them by function, and trust them to carry out his orders. In the future, he planned to mandate that they had their names printed on their suits in Earthan, front and back.
Slowly, too slowly, the tactical plot on the main visiplate display showed Revenge crawling toward the M100 asteroid. Carson’s icon approached at about the same speed. Even though these ships were travelling at high velocity, the vastness of space dwarfed everything.
It made Straker think about what he’d read of Old Earth’s early days, launching fragile probes into the void, machines that would take weeks or months to cross planetary distances that now took mere hours.
Finally, shivering despite the heaters, Straker ordered Revenge emerged. The main display updated, and he let out his breath when he saw M100 exactly where it should be: between Revenge and Carson.
“Sensors, do we have confirmation of Carson’s course and position?”
“Not yet, sir. M100 shields us.”
“Helm, peek out.”
“Not understood, sir.”
Straker explained. “Move our ship just enough to get a passive sensor reading to locate Carson. Minimum exposure. Then return.”
“Understood. Moving.”
The main screen updated yet again as Revenge’s passive sensors collected active pulses from Carson as she traveled. Ironically, had Carson’s captain not been so concerned about something in her path, had she run silent under emission control procedures, she might have saved herself.
“Compute optimum attack position,” Straker said. “Lay in that course.”
“Course computed and laid in.”
“Execute.”
Revenge dove aga
in and accelerated directly into Carson’s path, passing through M100. Straker wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to that feeling. It seemed like magic rather than science, this ability to move through solid matter. Theoretically, they could slip right into a planet and come out the other side.
“We are in position, sir.”
“Weapons,” said Straker, edging forward with tension, “prepare float mine.”
“Float mine prepared. Warhead activated.”
“Set fusing for detonation upon emergence.”
“Fusing set.”
Straker stared at the chrono counting down. “You will release the float mine at time zero. Do not wait for my verbal order. Helm, when the float mine is released, you will immediately accelerate, all ahead flank, to gain maximum separation.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Straker chuckled at the naval jargon. Zaxby had trained the crew well, despite not having War Male status. No doubt he’d flimflammed them with his endless talking. Or maybe Ruxins really were all meticulous brainiacs as Zaxby claimed. In any case, they made good ship handlers, and none were argumentative toward him. Unlike Zaxby, these individuals were all young and eager.
Four… three… two… one… zero.
“Float mine deployed.”
“Inserting and accelerating,” said the helm, and the ship seemed to tilt with the thrum of the engines.
Time suspended itself for two seconds. Something in Straker’s optic nerve sparkled and the temperature inside the ship rose several degrees. For a brief moment, the nuclear blast blurred the lines between normal space and underspace, resonating a broad spectrum of radiation, from hard gamma and free particles to electromagnetics, across the dimensional barrier.
In underspace, such a blast was simply something to be endured, though it was not conducive to the long-term health of the crew.
Outside, though, in normal space, the fusion explosion would scour any ship inside its radius clean of the toughest external fittings and would subject its hull to heat and kinetic stress briefly rivaling the surface of a star. Depending on proximity—in other words, the accuracy of the float mine placement—such a target might merely be damaged or it might be vaporized outright.