Ghost Fleet

by D. A. Boulter

  Jaws dropped. The best the mighty Confederation Navy had to defend Fleet Headquarters and Lormar with was an ad-hoc fleet of Class-B and Class-C recommissions?

  “I know everyone expected a rest. Sorry. We go to hyperspace patrol in just under ten hours and we have a lot to do to get ready. Therefore, I want each and every one of you to get off the damn ship and enjoy yourselves as much as possible for the next six hours.” Smiles appeared. “However, not a word about what we’ve been doing for the last year. Anyone asks and you’ve been ordered to not discuss it. Got it? Good. No comments, no sly innuendoes, just that you have orders to not discuss it.”

  Britlot looked at the time. “Get the hell off the ship.” The crew scattered. “That goes for you, too, Sub-Lieutenant,” he told Krirtol who had remained behind.

  “Soon, sir. Is it really as bad as you told the crew?”

  “It is worse, Natya. We’re giving up Lormar, the four Primes and all. Fleet has relocated headquarters and has ordered the evacuation of the four Prime stations. I haven’t a clue what is going on in the Combine sector, no one has seen fit to brief me, but unless we get reinforcements—and quickly—we may lose more than just Lormar.” He smiled tiredly at Krirtol. “Now, is there anything else?”

  “No chance to go down to the planet? I have family there. They probably think I’m dead.”

  Britlot shook his head sadly. “Try a tele-vid. I understand we are extremely unpopular planetside.” He gently took Krirtol’s arm and led her towards the airlock.

  “Do the best you can to relax, Natya.” Her somber face caused him to shake his head again. “Sorry you didn’t stay on Adia?”

  “In a way, sir, but we belong here. I wouldn’t feel right, being safe and comfortable there with Lormar under the Tlartox. Have we no chance, sir?”

  Britlot became Captain once again. “There is always a chance, Sub-Lieutenant. Our other fleets may put in an appearance; the Tlartox may have second thoughts; First Fleet may reassemble and cause the Tlartox some major damage. We may frighten them with Searcher’s new armaments.”

  Krirtol laughed dutifully. “I’ll be off, then, sir.”

  “Oh, Natya?”

  “Sir?”

  “I’ve recommended that you get your half-stripe. You deserve it.”

  A slow smile came to Krirtol’s face. “Thank you, sir.” Lieutenant Natya Krirtol, she said to herself. It had a certain ring to it.

  Britlot let out his breath as Krirtol left. Now for the joy of supervising loading. He desperately wanted to hit the pit, sleep or just relax and allow the surprises of the day to integrate, but he couldn’t allow himself that luxury. Strangely, he did relax. The threat to Lormar made his own problems seem petty. After the war ...

  LORM, LORMAR

  Jol struggled to remain patient. The world had gone mad about him, and trying to get anything done had become a grade three pain in the neck.

  “What do you mean you can’t do it?”

  “Mobs have turned over landcruisers in the streets, Drendol. You know that. I’m not risking having my vehicles damaged to deliver a few nuts and bolts.”

  Jol gave the man his hardest stare—to no avail. “As you wish then. I’ll come for them myself.” His contact stared, amazed.

  “You must be crazy, Drendol. Why?”

  “Because it is my job.”

  “Tlartox might not see it that way.”

  Jol kept his face bland. Then he gave a self-deprecating grin. “Chance I’ll have to take.” This one would collaborate, he thought as he closed the connection. Best to not reveal anything at all to him.

  “Want company?”

  Jol turned, recognizing Nennor’s whiny voice. Nennor had surprised him. With half the factory refusing to return to work, the sharp-faced little man had become one of the few bright spots in his days. Suddenly Nennor was the one with the joke of the day, a smile where there were mostly frowns, and an irrepressible spirit. Jol shrugged; you just don’t know someone until you see him in a tight situation.

  “I’d love it, Rensol. Let’s go.” They needed the small parts to finish the remaining guidance heads. He closed his eyes in a moment of despair. To be that close to finishing an entire batch, but to lack nuts, bolts and screws? Gods above and below!

  “I’ll just be a minute.” Rensol Nennor was as good as his word. He’d put on a jacket and Jol could see a small bulge at his waist.

  “What’s that?”

  “You mean you aren’t carrying anything? For Fren’s sake, man, it’s ugly out there. Wait.” He rushed off and returned shortly. “Here.”

  Jol looked at the weapon and hesitated. To accept it meant he accepted that things had become that bad.

  “Think of your family, man,” Nennor admonished. “Do them no good if you’re dead or crippled.” He smiled gently. “It’s just insurance—like the company provides.”

  Jol took the nasty, illegal little weapon and dropped it in his coat pocket. The world had indeed gone mad.

  The streets were mostly empty, but here and there people moved about. Most businesses had closed early, owners bolting their doors and praying that the police and military guardsmen would prevent looting. Occasionally riots broke out.

  Jol looked up at the big vid screen on the Lormar Bank Building. It displayed a repeating message telling viewers to stay calm and to remain at home as much as possible until the situation rectified itself.

  A firecruiser screamed by, and Jol wondered: arson or accident? Too many suspicious fires had occurred of late. He turned up a side street and drove quickly to the supplier. A surly guard on the gate allowed them through.

  “I’ll stay by the cruiser, Jol.”

  “Thanks, Rensol. Shouldn’t be long.”

  He wasn’t. The boxes awaited him. Cash on delivery, the supplier insisted. He looked at the tally, eyes bleak. Price gouging. Pulling out his card, he mated it to the supplier’s and paid. He wasted no time getting back to Nennor.

  “Hurry!”

  Jol hurried, jumping into the passenger seat as Nennor put the cruiser in motion. “What’s up?”

  Nennor looked pale. “Listen.”

  The ugly sound of smashing windows came to him. Nennor took a quick left and pushed the landcruiser up to its maximum safe speed. Sirens howled and police cruisers converged on the riot.

  They made considerably better time back than they’d made there. Jol looked down. His hands shook. A world gone mad.

  SEARCHER

  “Diary Entry: Eighth day on patrol. We’ve seen nothing except signals—and every signal bad news. The Tlartox have a new tactic. Their detectors are better than we believed and they’ve latched onto the scattered elements of First Fleet in Hyperspace. When our ships drop, the Tlartox drop with them. Running battles have occurred for days, now. The only good thing about it is that the Tlartox fleets must be as scattered as our own. It will take them time to reassemble for an assault on Lormar—we hope.”

  “Another signal, Captain,” Dhine handed Britlot a stick. Dhine’s eyes were dark from lack of sleep and his face had a haunted look. Britlot wondered if he looked the same. He’d been avoiding looking in mirrors of late.

  “Gentlemen, Ladies,” Britlot went on ISB, “We’ve just intercepted a message from First Fleet Cruiser Grisnel. Grisnel and four frigates dropped into the Conlensi system. Ten Tlartox frigates dropped with them. In a running battle one Tlartox frigate was put out of action and another damaged. Grisnel jumped again and the Tlartox stuck with them. They tried doubling back and redropping in Conlensi. They found the damaged frigate being looked after by a tender. Grisnel destroyed the both of them only minutes before the Tlartox squadron found them again.

  “Another short battle followed where a second Tlartox frigate fell to our guns. Unfortunately, one of our own frigates, the Trensil, declared herself out of action. Grisnel and the remaining three frigates jumped again. They report Tlartox shadows remain close to them.”

  Britlot forced his tone to become optimist
ic. “You see, we can beat them.”

  Unfortunately, Britlot thought, even if we keep winning on a three-to-one basis, First Fleet entire will be lost long before the Tlartox begin to run short of ships.

  And, unfortunately, they were not destroying Tlartox ships at a three-to-one ratio. It was closer to one-to-one. Several ships had reported making a run back to Krevost, farther than the Tlartox were likely to follow, which also put them out of the battle.

  PREDATOR

  Fleet Admiral Tood Tlomega bared her teeth as she read another message. Her fleet continued to run the humans ragged. “My plan works Star Admiral Tlorth,” she exulted. “The human First Fleet is finished as a fighting entity. We have scattered them all over the galaxy!”

  “And ourselves as well, Fleet Admiral.”

  “True enough, Sab, true enough. That’s why I want you to begin reassembling five of the fleets. The others can continue the hunt.

  “Take a look at this,” Tlomega indicated a situation holo. “The humans withdrew the bulk of their fleets to the Combine sector of space, leaving First Fleet to slow us and keep us occupied—along with those of their moth-balled vessels which they could recommission in time.

  “First Fleet has failed. Lormar sits there for the taking. The humans recognize this and relocated their fleet headquarters to Krevost, exactly as Intelligence predicted, and Kethren’s squadron is about to make that move futile. We are exactly where we want to be.” The situation holo changed to show Lormar.

  “Observe the four Prime Stations, equidistant in geosynchronous orbit above Lormar. Each carries the defensive capability of a cruiser, at least. Each has repair facilities for several vessels. A perfect jumping off point to the Confederation’s innards.”

  “I doubt that they’ll allow us to take their stations intact,” Sab commented.

  “Why not?” Tlomega asked. “Intelligence has decoded some of their signals. Apparently they are evacuating the stations. The humans have no stomach for the hunt, especially when they are the prey!” Tlomega showed her teeth again. “They will expect us to take Lormar and then present our demands, as they did when they took Tlenfro. After a suitable time they think we will return Lormar to them, as they returned Tlenfro to us. Why destroy the Primes?”

  Sab walked around the holo of Lormar. “This is not three hundred years ago, Fleet Admiral.”

  “Yet the humans fight as if it were, Tlorth. They fight the Combine exactly as we fought, and they engage us in small raids. For them, nothing has changed. By the time they realize differently, we will have them.” Tlomega’s ears pointed forward, excitement in the angle. “In case they resist, I have ordered ten thousand Tlartox commandos to assault each station.”

  Sab Tlorth’s eyes widened. Forty thousand commandos entailed two thirds of the Tlartox Empire’s entire elite force. Tlomega must have used every contact she had to get so many authorized for one mission.

  “Now, we will take two fleets and take possession of Lormar and her four Primes. Two fleets will head for Rosneli and one for their new settlements in the Krovell system. They will wait until we secure Lormar, then drop and attack.”

  Sab nodded. If all went as flawlessly as Tlomega suggested it would, the Confederation would be hard put to dislodge them from Lormar, even if its entire navy returned from the Combine sector.

  Kethren’s squadron waited, poised to drop into normal space in the Krevost and surrounding systems, ready to disgorge jammers to render the new Confederation Fleet Headquarters blind and deaf. Fleet’s head would be cut off. They would have no unified command for some time—perhaps weeks—until the Confederation could clear the jammers. By then it would be too late.

  Nothing, though, in Sab’s experience, went flawlessly. She immediately began to consider contingency plans. Dismissed, she had just stepped through the door when Tlomega called her back.

  “Just to keep the pressure on, send a squadron to take the human mining operations as discussed.”

  “The one in the asteroid belt in the Pensor system?”

  “Yes, that’s the one. If we’re lucky, they’ll have a shipment of ore ready to go. We can make better use of it than the humans can,” Tlomega chuckled.

  Sab headed for the bridge. In spite of Tlomega’s assurances she worried. Where sections of First Fleet had been brought to battle, they had fought hard and well. The Tlartox fleet was superbly trained and still the humans had come off well, even though out-numbered. Forty years of experience, with probably all of their crews battle-hardened, made a difference. She hoped they would run into few similar surprises.

  SECOND FLEET FLAGSHIP VINDICTIVE, COMBINE SPACE

  “What’s the word, Jellth?”

  Administrative Lieutenant Jellth looked quickly around to ensure that no strangers lurked within earshot. A largely superfluous gesture as they sat ensconced in the secure signal coding/decoding area of the Comm section.

  Jellth, a small man with a large bald spot at the back of his head, carried the nickname ‘Monk’. Others did not speak it where he could hear, for Jellth did not suffer jibes lightly. Consequently, he was universally disliked. However, as an assistant to the Fleet Admiral, he brought good information.

  “We’re going deep into Combine space to force a fight,” he whispered. The whisper only made it difficult for the listeners, who strained to hear over the hum of equipment and the forced airflow. Likely Jellth did that purposefully, irritating the others as he tried to make himself appear important.

  “Combine space? We’re not turning about and going back to Lormar?” Signals Lieutenant Prensol shook her head, angry. “We’re supposed to be protecting the Confederation, not haring off into Combine space,” she argued.

  “We hand the Combine a severe defeat, then go and take Lormar back from the Tlartox. What could be simpler?”

  “Indeed, Jellth, indeed. Thanks for the gen!”

  Jellth let himself out, the door closing and locking automatically behind him. Inside the Comm area the signals officers allowed looks of disgust to surface.

  “Arrogant bastard,” Prensol spat out. “He just writes off Lormar. ‘Oh, we can take it back later,’” she mimicked the officious tone of the departed Lieutenant.

  Signals Lieutenant Borcheb nodded his agreement. He looked at the small blonde woman, his eyes angry. “And what about First Fleet?” he demanded. “They’re running like hunted animals and we send no help? I have friends in First Fleet.”

  He received nods from all around. First Fleet was their sister fleet and, until this sudden move against the Combine, they’d always operated in the same sector. Everyone knew at least one person on a ship now declared missing or destroyed.

  “Okay, Gentlemen, Ladies, we have work to do. Sooner we finish what we have to finish here, sooner we get back to our friends.” Signals Commander Lerechin knew how far to let his people go. Now he reined them in. He wondered if Fleet Admiral Frelob had any idea of what he did to fleet morale by not sending even a squadron back to aid First Fleet. Not that it would make much difference at this point, Lerechin admitted to himself. It would take the better part of three weeks to get back to Lormar.

  * * *

  Fleet Admiral Frelob paced the floor of his cabin. When Flag Captain Glerchin entered, Frelob came to a halt in front of his aide. “Captain,” he acknowledged Glerchin. “How goes the fleet?”

  “Sir, we are moving fast in close formation. We will enter normal space on time and ready.”

  Frelob sighed, the hairs of his white moustache flailing in the breeze, “That’s not what I meant, Captain.”

  “The crews are angry, sir, that we send no help back to Lormar.”

  “And they blame me?” It was more a statement than a question, but his inflection made it a question nonetheless.

  “You are the Fleet Admiral, sir.”

  Glerchin was a good officer, but a little bit of a ‘yes man’, thought Frelob absently. Of course they blamed him, and not just because of his rank. He had a reputation for
being a cold, hard commander, he knew. An unjust reputation, for he merely did the necessary without showing emotion. He had the responsibility to win with as few casualties as possible. If that meant sacrificing some ships and crews, then he would sacrifice those ships and crews—for the greater good.

  “We keep on, Captain. No use sending back ships we may need to achieve our objective in order to placate some disaffected crewmembers with the idea that we are sending help—which cannot arrive in time no matter what.”

  “Aye, sir,” Captain Glerchin responded. He thought himself lucky that the Fleet Admiral could not read his mind. He, too, had many friends in First Fleet.

  CHAPTER 20

  SEARCHER, IN HYPERSPACE

  “Sub-Lieutenant Parenner, report.”

  The Sub-Lieutenant, one of the four extra officers and twenty extra crew bringing Searcher up to its war complement, stiffened. He had graduated early from the Academy and didn’t feel ready for this. Being left alone on the bridge had him shaking. He gratefully vacated the chair to Lieutenant Krirtol.

  “Nothing on detectors, sir. No new messages directed to us from Lormar. We have decoded several messages from other Fleet units. They are on stick, sir.” He handed her the stick. She seemed so confident, so sure of herself. He wished he could be like that.

  “Thank you, Sub-Lieutenant, I have the con.” She edged closer to the young man and lowered her voice so only he could hear. “Relax, Parenner. Pretend it is a simulation in the Academy. These Spacers are looking to you for leadership. If it looks like you are panicking, they will panic.” Fat chance, Krirtol thought to herself. The mostly seasoned crew, with the possible exception of some of the new ones, would continue doing their jobs whether or not Sub-Lieutenant Parenner relaxed, panicked or slept. “Just remember, if anything at all comes up, call for reinforcements. The Captain, Lieutenant Weytok or I will be up here in less than a minute. Otherwise, trust your crew to do their jobs, and try to look comfortable. If you give an order, sound confident. Easy.” She smiled gently at the boy.