The Far Stars War

by David Drake

  Sokolof pulled the computer keyboard a little closer, frowned in concentration, and tapped in a series of numbers. A menu appeared. He requested a routine activity scan. The menu disappeared and a screenfull of information came up to replace it.

  His heart froze. There shouldn’t be more than a line or two. Someone was tracing his way back to him through the subroutines!

  Working quickly, Sokolof tapped in another code. This brought up a new mask which demanded a new code. This process was repeated three more times before the last mask disappeared, and words PROGRAM RUNNING flashed on the screen.

  Sokolof tapped some ash onto the immaculate surface of the commodore’s desk and leaned back in Heath’s chair. He felt mixed emotions. The trail was gone and with it any chance of being caught. But someone had been extremely close. Who?

  * * *

  Kyro didn’t need eyes to know he was back in space.

  He would’ve known without his sensors, without being told, without any external information at all. The feeling came from somewhere deep inside. A feeling of rightness and completion which came only in space.

  So as the shuttle rose through Gloria’s atmosphere, Kyro’s spirits rose with it, and he was happier than he’d been in a long, long time. He looked forward to the day ahead.

  Later there would be a formal rechristening, complete with Heath and a bargeload of other dignitaries, but first there would be a private party for those who had brought the Hebe back to life.

  As the shuttle approached, Kyro watched the main screen. Hebe was about two miles long. A little tubbier than the latest ships of her class, but less vulnerable, too, thanks to a thicker hull. True, her nav comp, tac tank, and electronic warfare systems were almost primitive by modem standards, but in an all-out close-in brawl Kyro would take the Hebe over younger ships.

  The outer surface of the vessel’s hull was covered with antennas, cooling fins, weapons blisters, and countless other installations. They gave the ship a rough, functional look.

  But to Kyro the Hebe was a thing of beauty. Over the years he’d approached sixteen other naval vessels in much the same way, ultimately taking a part of the ship with him, and leaving a part of himself behind. It was good to meet a new friend.

  The shuttle entered the ship’s massive launching bay, hovered for a moment, and dropped gently to the deck. The pilot, Lieutenant Commander Kathi Forney, League Navy retired, grandmother of three, twice decorated for valor, cut power and renewed her makeup.

  Massive doors slid closed as atmosphere was pumped into the bay. During combat no such luxury would be allowed, but this was a ceremonial occasion, and everyone wanted to greet Kyro in the proper way.

  When the bay was pressurized the crew entered and formed three ranks. The youngest were middle-aged and the oldest were pushing a hundred. Some uniforms were tight, some were loose, and some were brand-new. Boots shuffled, light gleamed off metal limbs, and servos whined as they dressed the ranks. But when Chiefy called them to attention, they stood ramrod-straight, proud of who they were, and what they’d done.

  The shuttle’s hatch whirred open, and as Admiral Kyro floated down the ramp, Chiefy piped him aboard. The high keening notes of his bosun’s pipe sent a chill down Gil’s spine as they bounced from one bulkhead to another. Then Chiefy stepped forward and snapped to attention. “Welcome aboard, sir.”

  * * *

  “Welcome aboard, sir.” As Heath stepped through the lock, Captain Janice Yakamura was there to greet him. She hardly reached his shoulder, but her doll-like face was hard and determined. Heath was well acquainted with her quick mind and aggressive attitude. In fact, Yakamura was the reason he’d chosen to put his flag aboard her cruiser. She’d make up for his inexperience, and if something happened to him, then God help anything that got in her way.

  As they headed for the bridge, Heath said, “Thank you for your quick response, Captain. We haven’t got much time. You read the intelligence summary?”

  Yakamura nodded. Her shorter legs were taking two steps for everyone of his. “Yes, sir. The slimeballs waxed our ass.”

  Heath smiled, suddenly reminded of Carolyn. She’d be furious when she found out that he’d gone into space. “A colorful way to put it . . . but essentially correct. Get us there in a hurry.”

  “Yes, sir. We’ll be in hyperspace fifteen minutes from now. A few hours after that we’ll downwarp off Dusa, find the greasy bastards, and send ‘em to hell.”

  True to Yakamura’s word, the battle group broke orbit five minutes later, entered the acceleration phase eight minutes after that, and upwarped right on time.

  “Hyperspace. I said your father’s in hyperspace.” The voice belonged to Miss Woods, her father’s administrative assistant.

  Carolyn swore, causing Miss Woods to gasp and Lieutenant Koop to grin. He knew Carolyn rather well by now, and nothing would surprise him, least of all a little swearing.

  “All right, Miss Woods, thank you.” Carolyn pushed a button and turned to Koop.

  “The Gerin attacked Dusa and Daddy went after them. I’m worried. Daddy’s a reserve officer and doesn’t have the faintest idea how to fight a space battle.”

  “Well, his officers do,” Koop replied. “Besides, I’ll be surprised if the Gerin are still there when your father arrives.”

  Carolyn raised an eyebrow,

  Koop shrugged. “I wouldn’t be.”

  “So what now?”

  Koop smiled in the lazy sort of way which led some people to underestimate his abilities. “So now we handle the problem ourselves.”

  * * *

  “Report.” La’seek wore a pressure suit, and along with his two warrior apprentices was pacing back and forth across the now empty conference pool. The water had been vacuumed up and stored in preparation for the coming battle. Dry now, the rocks looked like those which lined the beaches of La’seek’s native planet.

  “Most of the humans are on their way to Dusa,” Wa’neck replied carefully. “The way is clear.”

  La’seek believed him but was nervous nevertheless. The strike force was a long way from home and the possibility of reinforcements. What if the spy had lied? What if Gloria was a well-prepared trap?

  “How many ships?” La’seek inquired, hoping Wa’neck would miss the stiffness of his movements.

  “Three cruisers, the decomissioned dreadnought, two transports, and a variety of small craft.”

  Inside his pressure suit La’seek turned green with relief. His strike force of ten globeships would eradicate the vermin and he would gain command of an entire fleet! He waved a talk tentacle in the other Gerin’s direction. “Well done, Warrior Wa ‘neck. You may attack.”

  * * *

  “Information,” Koop said calmly. “Information which you’ve been stealing. That’s what this is all about, Captain Sokolof. Miss Heath here found a data drain in the Felson Prime Mainframe. And guess what? We had just run into a huge dead end when you came on-line, detected our presence, and scrubbed the program.

  “Once we realized what you were doing it was easy to put a tracer on your activity and follow it back to the commodore’s terminal.”

  Koop nodded toward Carolyn. “Miss Heath here had a bad moment when it looked like her father was to blame, but a quick check showed that he was on his way to the spaceport at the critical moment, and you were sitting at his desk. Captain Sokolof, you are under arrest.”

  Sokolof lounged behind his desk, a smile on his face, apparently unconcerned. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Lieutenant. And while I usually have time for misguided junior officers and hysterical young women, I’m a bit rushed at the moment. It seems that some errant slimeballs are coming our way. Lieutenant Koop, I strongly suggest that you report to your planetary defense station, and Miss Heath, I think you’d be better off in a shelter.”

  Moving casually, Sokolof opened a desk drawer and reached
toward the box of cigars prominently displayed within. Instead, Sokolof’s hand went for the small handblaster hidden toward the back of the drawer, and got it halfway out before Koop’s slugs smashed through his chest and into his chair. Sokolof slumped forward, and his head hit the desk with a loud thump. The chair’s hydraulics sighed and adjusted to his new position.

  * * *

  “Position three, grid four, sector fourteen, I have six, make that seven, make that seven plus unidentified ships dropping hyper. Standard query brings no code. Repeat, no code. I have a nine point nine match to Gerin formations and tactics. Recommend scramble all units. Repeat, scramble—”

  “And that’s where the transmission ended, Admiral,” Chiefy said, addressing the metal cube. “We think the message came from a courier ship which was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Our long-range detectors confirm ten globeships headed this way.”

  Kyro was silent for a moment. “You say most of the fleet’s gone?”

  “Yes, sir. We didn’t think much of it at the time, but Sparks, he likes to listen in, heard a lot of code, and all of a sudden four cruisers broke orbit. They went hyper a few minutes later.”

  “What’s left?”

  “Three cruisers, two transports, and a few odds and ends.”

  “Give me the senior captain.”

  Because he was retired, Kyro had less authority than the lowest enlisted personnel, but he hoped they’d talk with him at the very least.

  “Aye, aye, sir.” A moment passed and Chiefy was back. “I’ve got the Mandela’s commanding officer on the horn, sir—she just broke orbit. Morgan’s her name.”

  Kyro turned an optical pickup toward the comm screen.

  He saw a middle-aged woman who wore the comets of a commander and a rather grim expression. She spoke first.

  “No offense, Admiral, but there’s big trouble on the way, so I hope this is something more than a social call.”

  Kyro laughed, the sound strangely metallic as it came out of his speech synthesizer. “No, Captain, it isn’t social. We wondered if we could help.”

  “You’ve got some functional weapons aboard that tub?”

  Kyro swiveled a pickup toward Chiefy. He ‘nodded in the affirmative.

  Kyro looked back to the comm set. “Yes. The Hebe has the normal complement of weapons for a ship of her type. “

  This was not strictly true, since they were still waiting for some spare parts, but Chiefy had no intention of correcting him. The Hebe’s weapons systems were an 87 percent “go,” and that’s more than a lot of line ships could boast.

  Morgan shook her head in amazement. “All right, Admiral. We can use all the help we can get. We’re all going. Scouts, a minelayer, even a tug. We’ll do our best to slow ‘em down and break up their formation. You keep ‘em off the planet.”

  “I understand and will obey,” Kyro replied formally.

  “Good luck, Captain. Hebe out.”

  Kyro was already turning to Chiefy as the comm screen snapped to black. “Sound action stations, Chief.”

  “Aye, aye, sir!” Chiefy replied with a grin. His hand hit a large red disk and a klaxon went off.

  Down on the messdeck two hundred heads looked up all at once. They’d been sitting there enjoying the refreshments and talking about old times. The klaxon was a mistake or someone’s idea of a joke. They looked at each other and laughed.

  Then Chiefy’s voice came over the intercom. “This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill. We have incoming Gerin globeships. All crew members report to battle stations. Repeat, all crew members report to battle stations.”

  Someone said, “Oh, shit,” and they all started to run. And as they ran, the klaxon continued to sound, pumping adrenaline into aging minds and bodies.

  Most didn’t think, they didn’t have to, they just responded to a lifetime of drills, heading for whatever duty station they knew best. And if that one was manned, they sought another, until they found an open position.

  Visiting dignitaries were herded into empty slots, where they were instructed to “shut up, sit down, and for gawdsakes don’t touch anything.”

  Up on the bridge Lieutenant Commander Kathi Forney had the con. Her seat was extended and almost horizontal. Wires ran from her helmet and command gauntlet into the ship’s nav comp and gave her control of the ship.

  Forney’s mind was everywhere, darting through long strings of numbers, gliding over drive readouts, and caressing the ship’s weapons systems. She’d been a stonecold killer once, a brilliant pilot, a fierce competitor. And under the white hair and wrinkled skin she still was. She had grandchildren down below, and if the slimeballs wanted Gloria, they’d have to kill her to get it.

  “Report.” Kyro snapped the word out and listened as section leaders reported in.

  Gil’s voice was strong and clear. “Power section closed up and ready, sir.”

  Kyro recognized the next voice as that of Gunny Norvus. Like his own, the Gunny’s voice was synthesized. “Weapons section closed up and ready, sir. We’re 87 percent on weapons, 80 percent on personnel, and ready to kick some ass.”

  Kyro smiled inside himself. “Thank you, Gunny. Medical?”

  “Medical closed up and ready, sir.”

  And so it went until all departments were accounted for. Kyro thought about what these men and women had given before, and what they were ready to give again, and he felt a tremendous sense of pride.

  “Thank you, everyone. If the Gerin think Gloria’s a pushover, they’ll soon know differently. Chiefy, plug me in.”

  Having been warned a few minutes before, Chiefy was ready. He had already connected two cables to the ship’s tac comp, so it was a simple matter to plug them into Kyro’s life-support box.

  As Chiefy made the connections, Kyro suddenly understood why cyborg pilots are considered the very, very best. Suddenly he and the ship were a single entity. He felt himself expand to fill every circuit in the ship’s vast network of electronics.

  It was like having a body again, only better. Every sensor was his, every readout an additional source of information for his brain, every crew member a subprocessor on which he could depend.

  He sensed which weapons were manned and which were on automatic, he left Forney gliding in and around him as she pulled the ship out of orbit, he knew that Gil’s pulse was 120, and he winced when one of Morgan’s ships vanished in a flash of light.

  * * *

  The light was just disappearing off the main screen when La’seek began to wonder if something was wrong. He pointed a talk tentacle at the green dot in Sea Storm’s tac tank, the one which was just breaking orbit. “What’s that?”

  Wa’neck wished that La’seek would shut up and allow him to carry out his duties, but knew such hopes were in vain, and felt his skin turn an angry red. Fortunately, La’seek couldn’t see through Wa’neck’s spacesuit and take offense.

  “Probably just a transport trying to run.”

  “Oh, really?” La’Seek asked. “Then why is it coming toward us, rather than running away?”

  Wa’neck took a closer look. He forced himself to be civil. “You are right, of course. It’s the dreadnought our spy spoke of.”

  “A dreadnought which was decommissioned, ‘little more than a hulk,’ you said. Why would a hulk come straight at us?”

  “Perhaps they intend to ram,” Wa’neck said defensively. “Who cares? We will destroy them long before they are close enough to do any damage.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it,” La’seek answered coldly.

  “But remember, it is written that in the tentacles of warriors, worn out tools have accomplished many things.”

  * * *

  Like a blade. That’s how Commander Morgan cut through the Gerin formation, splitting them in two, and forcing them out and away from the planet.

  All three
of her cruisers launched fighters, the Gerin did likewise, and before long a complicated dogfight developed with both sides giving and taking death. The humans were terribly outnumbered, but they had fewer cruisers to defend, and were driven by desperation. All of them know what had happened to Dusa and would happen to Gloria if the Gerin got through.

  Meanwhile the larger ships had gone straight for the heart of the Gerin strike force. The tug had vanished almost immediately, quickly followed by the minelayer, and a cruiser. The cruiser had done well, taking two globeships with her, but that still left eight of the alien ships to Morgan’s two.

  Morgan fought like a demon, ignoring conventional strategy, twisting and turning through an intricate maze of lethal energy, taking hit after hit as she fought the globeships.

  She watched with a lump in her throat as a small scout ship made its way through a rainbow of energy beams and hurled itself against a globeship’s force field. It vanished in a flower of light and left the alien vessel untouched.

  Then Morgan saw it, the Gerin command vessel, no larger than the rest but conspicuous by its location at the center of their formation.

  She gritted her teeth as her second cruiser was snuffed from existence and gave the order to attack. All around her lights flashed red and orange, systems went down, and people screamed.

  Morgan smelled smoke, and suddenly realized there was something wrong with her legs. They wouldn’t move. Maybe it had something to do with all that blood.

  There was an atmosphere leak around someplace, but it must be a small one, because Morgan’s suit was holed and she could still breathe. Someone was talking, asking her questions, making demands.

  Morgan looked at her pilot, and found that he was looking at her. “Where to, skipper?”