The Far Stars War

by David Drake

  Gil was short and squat, much like the drives he’d once served, his open features a map to a very simple soul. A soul completely untroubled by the fact that a Gerin beam weapon had taken his left eye and right leg. And why should it be? Though not especially pretty, the bionic replacements worked better than the originals, and were much easier to maintain.

  Gil was retired now, mustered out as a power tech first class, and damned tired of it. For months his thick fingers had ached for something to do, something to fix.

  Oh, there were jobs, all right, like working in a munitions factory, or maintaining the big robo miners which bored their way through Gloria’s mountains. But that was child’s play compared to working on a ship’s monster drives. The Hebe was like a dream come true.

  Yup, Gil thought to himself, thanks to Admiral Kyro, I’ve got a ship again. An old rust bucket to be sure, but a ship nonetheless, and that’s a helluva lot better than nothing. Gil smiled and waited for some instructions from Chiefy.

  Chiefy was a small man with small needs and small dreams. Patches of bright blue marked the spot on each sleeve where missing chevrons had once identified him as a chief petty officer, setting him above the other enlisted personnel and providing his nickname.

  Servos whined as he looked down at the translucent key card, then up at the rows of storage racks which marched away in every direction. Gil was right. This would be more fun than three days in a class-one pleasure dome! Thanks to Admiral Kyro they could take anything they needed.

  For thirty-six years Chiefy had fought for supplies. Even during the best of times there’d never been enough, and in the worst of times, well, he’d been forced to misappropriate, liberate, and just plain steal what he needed. What his ship needed.

  Because for Chiefy ships were alive, having souls and personalities, which it was his job to understand and cater to. This was his mission, his purpose, his only reason for existence. And because of that the Hebe took on special meaning. Chiefy was going to resurrect a goddess, restore her to working order, and spend the rest of his life paying homage.

  Light reflected off Chiefy’s arms as he pulled a minicomp out of his breast pocket and tapped the keys. It made a whirring noise as it printed out the list of the supplies the ship would need.

  Chiefy never said “museum,” not even to himself. A ship’s a ship, not a museum. Chiefy tore the printout off and grinned. “Come on, Gil ... we’ve got work to do.”

  “’Work’ is not a dirty word, Daddy,” Carolyn Heath pleaded. “I’m good with computers, you said so yourself. Besides, it’s boring sitting around the house all day.”

  Commodore Heath looked across the dining table and into his daughter’s eyes. Sometimes, when the light hit her face just so, Carolyn looked so much like his dead wife it brought a lump to his throat.

  Dark brown hair, worn long so it brushed her shoulders, wide-set eyes, a straight nose, only a tiny bit too large, his fault probably, and full red lips, presently set in a hard, determined line. He tried to sound angry, but she looked so much like Lydia that his heart wasn’t in it.

  “Bored?” Heath gestured expansively to the elegant dining room and the veranda beyond. “You have this, plus a two-seater, plus a skimmer, and you’re bored? Yes, you’re good at computers, but that doesn’t mean you should take a job like some settler’s daughter. My God! They’ll think we need the money!”

  Heath’s family were landed nobility in Cathgart, where they still passed titles down the male side, and women occupied themselves in ways which befitted their station.

  Carolyn crossed her legs impatiently. “Daddy, you’re such a snob. Besides, Deputy Administrator of the Felson Prime Mainframe is more than just a job. Lots of people would give their left nut, or ovary as the case may be, for my position.”

  Heath frowned as he took a sip of his drink. His daughter was starting to sound like Admiral Kyro. “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that, Carolyn. Your mother wouldn’t like it.”

  Carolyn sighed. She hated to manipulate her father, but sometimes he left her no choice. Plastering what she hoped was a contrite look on her face, she switched to the little-girl voice, and gave it another try.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy. Here, let me freshen up your drink. I’ll think about quitting if that’s what you want. But first I need your help on something.”

  Commodore Heath smiled. “Name it, honey, and it’s yours.”

  “I need to borrow someone from your intelligence section.”

  The frown returned. “Whatever for?”

  Carolyn was silent for a moment, the serious set of her eyes reminding him of the way Lydia used to look when working a problem. “I think there’s a drain on the mainframe.”

  “A what?”

  “A drain. I think someone’s stealing data from the mainframe, draining it from a subroutine, and dumping it God knows where. But I can’t be sure, because the subroutines are protected by naval codes, and I don’t have access.”

  Carolyn smiled her most winning smile. “So that’s why I need someone from your intelligence section, someone who really is, intelligent I mean, and knows computers.”

  Heath choked off the words before they could slip out.

  Carolyn had always been rather dramatic, like the time she’d been on a camping trip, and reported seeing a Gerin scout ship land in the mountains. Security had searched for two days making sure she was wrong. Of course, she’d been younger then, but still, this computer thing sounded like another false alarm. He’d pretended to take her seriously nevertheless. What with the Gerin and Admiral Kyro he had problems enough already without a war at home. Heath forced a smile.

  “I’ll call Commander Paulitz. I’m sure she’ll find someone to help you.”

  * * *

  Someone was screaming deep in Kyro’s dreams. Was it his exec? A tech? Or the ship itself? Dying a little more as still another bolt of energy sliced through its hull. Pieces. There were pieces of him all over the place. His arms, his legs, they’d come off somehow, each one sealed inside a section of suit. “Oh God, it hurts! Please, Mommy, make it stop!”

  Kyro jerked awake. As he did the vision of dying ships and men disappeared, replaced by Felson Prime at night, a sea of twinkling lights. He’d fallen asleep on the veranda. An empty extension of an empty house.

  Outside of his metal box the night had grown cold. It made little difference to Kyro. He could sleep wherever he chose. Beds were irrelevant now, and so was he. Kyro willed his optical scanners up toward the sky, toward the stars among which he yearned to roam, and wished that he were dead.

  * * *

  The battle klaxon bleated in the background as Marlo bent over to kiss her children. What if she never saw them again? What if the Gerin killed her and Jax too? It didn’t bear thinking about. She forced a smile.

  “Erica, take care of your little brother, and Pol, do what Erica says. You promise?”

  They said, “Yes, Mommy,” and stood on tiptoes to give her one last kiss. Then Marlo gave them over to a matronly-looking warden and turned her back. They’d be deep underground in a few minutes, safe from everything but a direct hit, and the possibility of losing both their parents in battle.

  Marlo’s combat boots made a loud thumping sound as she strode down the hall to the door. It swung open at her touch and allowed the heat to hit her face.

  Marlo squinted into bright sunlight. Beyond the whitewashed adobe walls of the settlement, yellow desert stretched off in every direction. Way out there, shimmering in the heat, she could see the house that she and Jax were building. It would be square, with a central courtyard, a little waterfall, and lots of room for the kids. Was this the last time she’d see it?

  “Come on!”

  The voice belonged to Jax. He and about fifteen or twenty others were packed into the back of Chang’s flatbed hovertruck. They waved and yelled friendly insults. All wore flight
gear and were members of the Fighting Fifteenth. A reserve unit, but a good one.

  Marlo ran down the path and allowed Jax to pull her aboard. He was a big man with kinky black hair, a handsome face, and gleaming white teeth. His arm felt strong and warm behind her back. She wanted to touch him, to feel him, to remember what he was like.

  Chang hit the gas and everyone was thrown backward as the truck roared down the main street and toward the west end of town. Beyond it lay the spaceport and Dusa’s tiny naval base.

  People came out to cheer and wave as the truck passed by, their confidence out of synch with the feeling in Marlo’s stomach and the nervous chatter of those around her.

  “Is this for real?” Marlo had to yell in order to be heard over the roar of the truck’s dual engines.

  “’Fraid so,” her husband yelled back. “Two Gerin globeships downwarped about fifteen minutes ago. They’re headed this way. How’re the kids?”

  “Scared,” Marlo replied, looking into his brown eyes. “And so am I.”

  Jax nodded. “Me too. Everybody is, but what the hey, chances are we’ll wax their ass!”

  “I’m not sure the Gerin have asses,” Marlo yelled. “Besides, it could go the other way.”

  “Anything’s possible,” Jax agreed, “but we’ll give it our best shot.”

  Marlo gave him a twisted smile. “Yes sir, Captain Sir. But why would the Gerin attack Dusa? It’s practically all desert. Besides, Gloria has a huge supply dump and makes a better target.”

  Jax shrugged. “Beats the hell outta me, hon. Maybe the creeps want a suntan. But whatever it is they want, they ain’t a-gonna get it. “

  Marlo nodded, but deep inside she wasn’t so sure.

  * * *

  “It won’t be easy,” Koop said grimly, “But if you’re willing to put in the time we can beat ‘em.”

  Carolyn Heath nodded her agreement. She was willing to put in weeks if necessary. Lieutenant Koop was everything she’d hoped for and more. Koop was not only knowledgeable about computers, he was charming, and good-looking to boot.

  Koop stood about six-two, wore his hair in the modified Mohawk favored by the navy, and filled his uniform quite nicely. Though he was handsome, a scar ran down across his right cheek, and saved him from being too pretty.

  “So you agree that someone’s stealing data?”

  Koop nodded vigorously. “Damned right I do. And you were right. Someone’s stealing data from a major subroutine. The one that handles supplies is my guess. What I don’t understand is why your computer tracks naval supplies. I thought our computers handled that.”

  Carolyn smiled agreeably and hoped that he’d ask her out. If not, she’d ask him.

  “You’re right, Lieutenant. But your supplies are moved in and out of the depot by civilians working on contract through the port authority. We don’t track your inventory, but we do track everything that comes and goes.”

  Koop frowned, his green eyes locking with her brown ones. “I fail to see the difference.”

  Suddenly it hit her. There wasn’t any difference. If you knew every item that came and went you could easily figure out what stayed. And given the fact that the Felson Prime Mainframe was a good deal less secure than its military counterparts, it was an obvious target.

  Carolyn felt something heavy drop into the pit of her stomach. Someone knew right down to the last pair of pliers what was stored in the League’s supply depot. The question was, who? And why?

  * * *

  “You’ve got one on your tail!” Marlo rolled her fighter right and dumped hot chaff. The Gerin fell for it, fired his single plasma torpedo, and saw it explode in a flash of blinding light.

  Marlo gritted her teeth, pulled back on the stick, and performed an Immelmann turn. As the Gerin fighter appeared in Marlo’s sights she pressed the red button on top of the stick. The Gatling laser spat coherent energy and the alien ship came apart. Dark smoke and chunks of debris blew by as she passed through the space where the Gerin ship had been.

  A quick check of her heads-up display showed a clean tail. Marlo looked for friendlies and bit her lip when she saw that only six were left. The battle had started in space, but bit by bit the Gerin had pushed the humans down into Dusa’s atmosphere, and were winning the battle of attrition. Another ten or fifteen minutes and the contest would be over.

  “Shit, Jax! I’ve got two of the bastards on my tail! Get ‘em off! Get ‘em off!”

  “On the way, Norm...hang tight.”

  The sound of her husband’s calm voice made Marlo’s throat constrict as she pulled back on the stick and blasted upward. If Marlo was going to die, she’d do it with Jax at her side, and take some slimeballs with her. Up above she saw white contrails intertwine and connect in a flash of light.

  “Got ‘em!” Jax was jubilant as one alien fighter exploded and the other went down trailing smoke.

  Then as Marlo pulled up beside him a woman’s voice crackled over the radio. It was Kathi, or maybe her twin sister, Kate; Marlo couldn’t tell the two of them apart. “Heads up, folks, it’s raining slimeballs.”

  One glance told Marlo that the other woman was right. Another fifty or sixty Gerin fighters were on the way down. There were so many they filled her heads-up display.

  “Form on me,” Jax ordered gruffly. “You did a good job, everybody. Let’s grease a few more on the way out.”

  As the five fighters obeyed, Marlo placed herself just off her husband’s starboard wing, and bit back the tears as Jax gave her one last thumbs-up. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want her children to die. The whole thing was so stupid.

  Down below a long row of white mushroom clouds marched across Dusa’s deserts. The bombing had started. The Gerin had won.

  * * *

  “That’s a roger, we have full power on the board, with indicators in the green.” Chiefy stood in front of Hebe’s main power control panel. All the indicator lights had just flickered from red to green. Gil might be a bit rough around the edges, but that sonovabitch sure knew his stuff!

  All around him the ship came to life. Power pulsed through massive cables, light leaped down hair-thin fiberoptic filaments, air whispered through miles of ducts, and the deck began to vibrate beneath his feet. Weeks of work had paid off. He had a ship once more. They had a ship once more. Chiefy knew that somewhere, miles below, a man in a metal box would be extremely pleased.

  Meanwhile, a thousand yards away, deep in the mechanical maze of Hebe’s drive room, Gil retrieved a half bottle of booze from his tool box. Grabbing a pair of dirty mugs, Gil poured a healthy dollop of whiskey into each, and handed one to Molly. She was his assistant, a onetime power tech herself, and to Gil’s eye, pleasingly plump.

  Molly grinned as she held the mug aloft. “To the Hebe! May she outlive us all!”

  * * *

  “Dusa? The Gerin attacked Dusa? Whatever for?”

  Commodore Heath asked in disbelief. “The planet’s nothing but sand.”

  “More like radioactive glass,” Captain Sokolof corrected him. “The slimeballs were busy nuking the place as the message torp was launched.”

  “Damn!” Heath slammed his fist down so hard that his com set jumped. “Are they coming this way?”

  “Not so far, sir ... not according to our scouts.”

  “It figures,” Heath said heavily. “Dusa was easy pickings, a couple of beat-up ships, and two or three flights of ground-based interceptors. They’re afraid to tackle Gloria. They know we’d have ‘em for lunch.”

  Sokolof wasn’t so sure but nodded anyway. “Will we respond, sir?”

  “Respond?” Heath demanded. “Hell yes, we’ll respond! We’ll find the slimy bastards and cancel their goddam ticket! What’ve we got?”

  Sokolof leaned over Heath’s desk and tapped a series of commands into the commodore’s terminal. A color-coded list floode
d the screen.

  Heath mumbled as he read it. “Let’s see . . . two transports . . . forget them . . . seven cruisers . . . and Kyro’s orbiting mausoleum.” Heath looked up from the screen and, grinned. “Well, George, it isn’t much, but it’ll have to do. I’ll leave you three cruisers to protect Gloria and take the rest with me.”

  Sokolof frowned. “With you, sir? With all due respect, your combat experience is, ah, somewhat limited, and—”

  “That’s enough!” Heath snapped, getting to his feet. “I may be lacking in experience, but my officers aren’t and I’ll be damned if I’ll stay. Besides, if I can run entire planets, I can command a battle group.”

  “Yes, sir.” Sokolof was careful to empty his face of all expression.

  Heath came around the desk and put a hand on Sokolof’s shoulder. “Don’t take it so hard, George. Someday it’ll be your turn to have all the fun.”

  “Yes, sir. Good hunting, sir.”

  Heath was halfway to the door when he stopped. “Oh, and send my apologies to Admiral Kyro. I’m afraid I’ll miss the rechristening of his flying museum.”

  Sokolof noticed that his commanding officer looked anything but sorry. “I’m sure he’ll understand, sir.”

  Commodore Heath waved and disappeared through the door.

  Sokolof shook his head in amusement and lit a cigar. Once it was drawing to his satisfaction, he walked around the desk and sat in Heath’s chair. His chair now that the commodore was gone.