“Coms, contact Commander Ternon and request that he divert his course to Edessa. We don’t know where in the system the enemy ship will appear next, but we do know that its largest colony presents the most valuable target.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Transmit orders to our battle group that they should remain at the colony as well.” Husher squinted at the main display, trying to determine his next move. “Winterton.”
“Sir?”
Husher glanced at the man, surprised he had to actually vocalize what he wanted—but then he saw how intently the sensor operator was studying his console’s readout. “Do I need to have Tremaine start sending Banshees at those things?”
“I think it’s prudent to keep them armed and ready,” Winterton said. “The enemy missiles’ velocity is such that our reverse thrust can’t bring us to parity before impact. That said, it is broadening the window we’ll have to deal with them, and we’ve already cut down the barrage by eighty-three missiles. Eighty-four!” he exclaimed, apparently responding to something he saw on his console. Winterton didn’t get excited very often, and Husher took his optimism as a good sign.
“Very good, Ensign. I’d like you to work together with Tactical to arrive at an estimate of how many of those robots are likely to get through to our hull. If it’s more than five, I’ll give the order to fire Banshees.”
Husher didn’t like the idea of even one reaching his hull—it meant a minor breach and a chance that it would get access to something they couldn’t do without.
That chance was slim, though. Major Gamble’s marines were well-trained and vigilant. They’d find and destroy anything that wormed its way into the Vesta’s corridors well before it found something vital; Husher felt confident about that.
The ship that had launched the barrage showed no sign of reemerging from wherever it had gone, and within twenty minutes, Winterton and Tremaine had determined that none of the enemy missiles were likely to get through.
At that, Husher breathed a quiet sigh of relief. If we’d been facing two of those warships, and they’d been more willing to stick around…
It was a good reminder to keep his battle group at hand whenever possible.
“Sir, contact off our stern,” Winterton said. “It’s the ship that fired the missiles—she’s right behind us. We’re accelerating straight for her.”
“Tactical, do we have enough charge to use our primary laser?”
“Aye, Captain!”
“Use the central aft projector to fire it at the enemy vessel, center-mass. Do it now.”
“Firing laser.”
Winterton gripped his console. “They’re hitting us with a particle beam. Superheating is occurring across a sizable portion of our stern, sir. It’s dangerously close to the left side of our main starboard reactor.”
Fingers clamped around his chair’s armrests, Husher’s gaze locked onto his Helm officer. “Use aft, port lateral thrusters to nudge that reactor away from the superheating. Only ten percent power—we don’t want to endanger the next reactor over.”
“Yes sir,” the Winger said.
“Tactical, let’s take advantage of our acceleration toward the target. Use aft railguns to send kinetic impactors right into the hole we’re drilling with our laser.”
“Yes, sir.”
Winterton turned toward him. “Sir, the superheating is deteriorating our hull at an alarming rate. I—” Frowning, he turned toward the main display. “The target’s vanished again, Captain. The superheating is subsiding.”
“Deploy damage control teams to the affected area and then tell me how bad it is.”
Winterton nodded, already at work typing up the orders, his fingers flying across the keyboard. He must have already composed the phrasing in his head, since he continued to speak fluidly. Either way, Husher was impressed by the multitasking. “Nearly every deck between aft sections forty-nine through sixty was affected,” Winterton said, “and the hull continues to melt. If the damage control teams don’t move fast, there’s a chance the reactor could be affected.”
“Acknowledged. Fry, send orders to Engineering to shut down the main starboard reactor as quickly and safely as possible.”
“Aye.”
Shaking his head to clear it, Husher took a moment to wonder whether this engagement was even over yet. He watched on the tactical display as Tremaine continued to mop up the robots flying through space toward them—an effort the officer hadn’t let himself be distracted from, even when the enemy ship had popped into existence right behind the Vesta.
What an admirable performance. From my entire CIC crew. “Good job, everyone,” he told them. “From how you handled that engagement, no one would ever say you’re a peacetime crew.”
But as he continued to study the tactical display, something began to bother him. “The enemy vessel’s reappearance…it was far from optimally timed. It would have been much more devastating to show up behind us while we were in the thick of dealing with the barrage it sent at us.”
From the XO’s chair beside him, Fesky clacked her beak. “Perhaps it can only appear like that at certain predetermined coordinates, and by accelerating backward we happened to head straight for one.”
“Interesting,” Husher said. “That would be hard to time properly, unless the enemy somehow had ongoing knowledge of the battlespace from wherever it disappeared to. But maybe that explains the random blips picked up by the sensor webs leading up to these engagements. That could be the enemy mapping the system, figuring out the points where it’s able to pop back in. I’ll be interested in having a look at the sensor web data from the engagement, to see whether it continued to see any blips. That would corroborate your theory, Fesky—the enemy would need to pop back in to check on our position and coordinate the surprise it had planned for us.”
“The thing I’m most curious about,” Tremaine said as he eyed Kaboh, “is where Teth is. We didn’t face him here, so where the hell is he?”
Husher felt pretty sure the answer to Tremaine’s question was on the tip of every CIC officer’s tongue: Teth was probably in the Viburnum System.
And if that’s true, the blood is on my hands just as much as it’s on Kaboh’s.
Chapter 30
Morality of War
After they finished mopping up the remaining missiles, Husher ordered Kaboh to set a course for Edessa, where he planned to have his battle group hold orbit until he was satisfied the hostile vessel wouldn’t return.
By the time they arrived over the planet, the enemy still hadn’t shown any sign of making another attempt on them, and so Husher felt comfortable letting second watch take over.
He was halfway to his quarters for a much-needed nap when his com buzzed, and he made the mistake of looking at it.
It was Mayor Dylan Chancey, requesting a private meeting in his office.
Cursing under his breath, Husher decided not to bother changing. Instead, he headed straight for the hatch that led to the city. He also didn’t bother telling anyone where he was going, since they’d probably insist on arranging a marine escort, given the recent unrest. Walking around his own ship with an armed escort was something he still refused to do, and besides, he didn’t feel like sitting around and twiddling his thumbs while one was put together.
It seemed the protesters were taking a break today, as no one awaited him with signs and air horns, either in the desert or in the city streets. Maybe they’re all just too busy sitting at home, signing petitions and typing inflammatory social posts.
It took ten minutes for Husher to get through city hall’s security checkpoints, since the mayor’s office was fairly close to the circular council chamber at the center.
Chancey was sitting at his desk when Husher entered, his back to the convex wall of the building’s curve, staring into space as he typed something on a datapad. Apparently the door’s opening hadn’t clued the mayor in to Husher’s presence, so he cleared his throat.
“Ah,” Chan
cey said, his gaze settling on Husher at last. “Captain. Please, have a seat.”
Husher did, lowering himself into a leather chair with smooth, metal armrests. He folded his hands in his lap and stared at the mayor.
“You’re no doubt wondering why I asked you here,” Chancey said.
“Whatever it is, I’m guessing I won’t enjoy the experience.”
“Oh?” Chancey steepled his fingers, regarding Husher over their tips. “Why do you say that?”
“Because whenever I visit Cybele, lately, I leave with more limitations that I need to observe, which reduce my effectiveness and that of my crew.”
“Alas,” Chancey said, and his smile looked genuinely sympathetic. “That goes part and parcel with living in modern civilization, doesn’t it? To move things forward, everyone needs to be able to live and work together with minimal friction, and that means suppressing certain whims and urges.”
“I’m not talking about whims. I’m talking about defeating the enemy as efficiently as possible while minimizing casualties, and that includes civilian casualties. We need to follow a morality of war right now, because that’s what we’re in. You told me you didn’t want to stand between me and doing my job, but that’s all you’ve done.”
“I apologize if you feel that way, Captain. But if we conduct ourselves like barbarians during war, then what will we be left with once war ends, other than savagery and the desire to wage more war?”
Husher snorted. “There’s a balance to be struck between becoming barbarians and binding ourselves with chains!”
Shaking his head, Chancey said, “I’m sorry I can’t bring you around to my viewpoint. It would make this a more pleasant process if I could manage it, but unfortunately, your views on the subject have little actual bearing. They are, in fact, seen by many as outdated.”
“Then military effectiveness is outdated, and we’re doomed the moment a power comes along that hasn’t limited itself like we have. That moment is now.”
“Do I need to remind you of the careful balance of power the Interstellar Union has sought to create with its military? As captain of a capital starship, you wield a level of power that’s completely unprecedented throughout galactic history. That’s why Cybele and its city council exists. We’re here to rein you in when you let personal vices and excesses lead you to abuse that power. It’s what this meeting is about, in fact.”
The mayor was right, Husher knew: arguing really was pointless. This was the same dilemma he’d been struggling with for two decades: to remain in a position to counter the danger he knew was coming, Husher had to give more and more ground to a government bent on coddling not only their constituents but every being in the universe, including any enemies that happened to come along. “Out with it,” Husher growled. “What are you forcing me to implement this time?”
“I’d rather not force you to implement anything, but I will write this into the law if I have to. As you know, I’m aligned with the council on this matter, and we’re ready to work together to enact any policy that becomes necessary.”
“Just tell me what you want,” Husher spat.
“I want you to sign on to the Positive Response Program.”
For a moment, Husher lacked words. Then, he said, “I thought it was voluntary. If a captain thinks it’ll impair effectiveness, he can decline to participate.”
“It has been voluntary, so far. But as you know, we’re given leeway to experiment with our legislation. You might call it our civic duty to do that, so that outside society can benefit from what we attempt here—as the Womb of Civilization and all, you know. You can probably see where I’m going with this. If you refuse to participate in the Positive Response Program, then I intend to ensure that legislation is enacted which requires you to participate.”
A dizziness struck Husher—a sense of disorientation so strong that for a moment, it felt like his ship was at sea rather than adrift in space. For the first time, it occurred to him that a man like Chancey was probably the most dangerous of all: a friendly viper, smiling until the moment its fangs found your neck.
“Is there anything you’d like to say at this point?” the mayor said, and unlike with Kaboh’s recent victory over him, Husher truly couldn’t detect any satisfaction underlying Chancey’s words.
Does he really believe he’s doing best by society? Or is he just giving his constituents what they want? “There’s nothing to say,” Husher said, his voice emerging as a rasp.
“Are there any objections you care to lodge?”
“You’ve already made it clear that it won’t make a difference. Just let the record show that I think you’re dealing the galaxy a death blow.”
“Captain Husher,” Chancey said, sounding chagrined. “Really. The Integrated Galactic Fleet is a public institution, and it’s incumbent on us to set a good example for organizations and businesses throughout the galaxy. That involves helping the underprivileged to find the employment they so want and deserve.”
“Do you realize how damn condescending that sounds?” Husher snapped.
“I’m afraid we differ, there.”
Scraping back his chair against the marble floor, Husher stood. Before he made for the exit, he said, “Can I make a request, Mayor?”
“Of course.”
“Lobby the Interstellar Union to deploy more warships to this region. I intend to make the case to them myself, but it will likely have more clout coming from you.”
“It’s not something I can promise. But I can tell you that I’ll think about it.”
Nodding, Husher turned and strode toward the door, feeling like he’d done all he could.
“Captain, there was one other thing.”
Husher turned his head sideways, but his body still faced the door. “Yes?”
“The people of Cybele want the Nonattendance Day for humans. Wingers, Kaithe, Tumbra, humans—they all want it, and as mayor, it’s incumbent on me to insist that you permit and encourage your crew to participate.”
“Fine,” Husher ground out, and he left, struggling to keep his shoulders squared and head high.
Chapter 31
Invertebrate
An hour after his meeting with Chancey, as he walked from the wardroom to his office, Husher caught multiple venomous glares directed his way, quickly masked once his eyes found them.
“Is there a problem, Private?” he asked a marine, who was the third one he caught wearing a sour expression.
The man came to attention, snapping off a crisp salute. “Sir, no, sir!”
“You’re certain there’s nothing you’d like to discuss?”
“Sir, no, sir!”
“Dismissed,” Husher said, suppressing a grimace.
Apparently, the mayor wasn’t being very discreet about securing agreement from Husher to sign on to the Positive Response Program. Not that he needed to be—clearly, Chancey could do as he pleased—but Husher didn’t think the indiscretion was very considerate. There had been no chance to message the decision to his crew yet, and evidently, they were drawing their own conclusions about it. He needed to move quickly if he was to have a shot at forestalling a major deterioration of his relationship with them.
His hand was on the access panel for the hatch into his office when a scratchy voice reached his ears.
“A word, Captain?”
He turned to behold Fesky, feathers standing at attention.
“You’re upset,” he said.
“You bet I am.”
“We can have a word, but I want you to know the conversation we’re about to have will be between a captain and his XO, not between old friends. Be very careful of overstepping your bounds here, Fesky.” He opened the hatch.
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” the Winger said, brushing past him and turning around.
Husher’s eyes narrowed, and he slapped the interior access panel without looking, closing the hatch behind him. “I already don’t like how this is going.”
“I do
n’t care,” Fesky said. “I told you, human. I told you. I said do not agree to that program. That it would tear the crew apart and turn them against you. What have you done?”
“I haven’t done anything, Fesky. I certainly didn’t agree to anything. This was forced on me by Cybele City Council.”
“So what? You’re in a war, Husher. Isn’t that supposed to make you a warrior? Fight this!”
“I don’t think you understand how this works.”
“I understand how having a spine works, actually, yes. Winger aren’t invertebrates, and I didn’t think humans were, either. Turns out there are some exceptions.”
“You’re out of line, Commander,” Husher barked, and Fesky fell silent, seething. “Listen to me. You haven’t captained a starship during these last seventeen years. In fact, you’ve never captained one. You don’t understand how thin the line is that I have to walk each and every day, just to remain in command so that I can take the fight to the enemy we both know has been building up for years.”
But Fesky was shaking her head. “Husher, the reason I haven’t captained a ship is that when you asked me to be your XO, I accepted. I did that because I thought we’d make a good team. I thought we’d stand up for what was good and right and effective, just like Captain Keyes and I did, and just as you did when you served under him.” Fesky’s voice grew softer. “But look at you now. You’re trying to appease everyone, and because of that you’re accomplishing nothing. Your attempts to stay in command, to please the politicians scrutinizing your every action—it’s making you just like they are, Husher. Captain Keyes was willing to sacrifice his life to save the galaxy. And he did. And it worked. But you? You’re not even willing to sacrifice your career.”
“I need a career to be able to do anything about Teth!” Husher yelled, but Fesky was already striding past him. She pressed the access panel to open the hatch, and then she was gone.
Ixan Legacy Box Set Page 14