“They’ve got almost all the main armament operational,” Diaz said, still grinning.
“How did they—? How did President Iceni know we would need her? Is it for real?”
Diaz indicated his display. “The weapon status is on the classified feed. Kapitan Mercia would try to fool the enemy with false appearances, but she wouldn’t be sending us that information unless it was true.”
“I knew they were getting close to integrating the weapons into the combat systems and bringing the whole thing online, but she must have really cracked the whip to get them that far that fast.”
On the heels of the light showing the arrival of the Midway came a message addressed to Marphissa.
“Greetings, Kommodor,” Freya Mercia said. She was seated on the expansive bridge of the battleship, looking gratifyingly confident and composed. “It appears that we got here in time. I will be proceeding at my best speed in-system toward the main inhabited world until I receive other instructions. President Iceni had concerns about our warships and about General Drakon’s ground forces, and I can see those concerns were more than justified. I await your orders, and assure you that Midway is ready to strike the enemy and avenge the citizens of Kane.”
The view of Kapitan Mercia panned slightly to one side, revealing another figure in the seat next to her, a woman wearing a very different uniform. “We have also brought Captain Bradamont along. She knows a few things about fighting Syndicate battleships, after all. Please inform CEO Boucher for me that this star system will be her graveyard. For the people, Mercia, out.”
Marphissa pointed at Diaz. “Kapitan, give me a vector to get Manticore and Gryphon back to the planet and over General Drakon’s troops again. I’ll order Hawk and Eagle to join up with us there. If I know CEO Boucher, she’s going to stop worrying about the freighters, collect Haris’s two cruisers, and head for an intercept with the Midway.” She straightened, adjusted her uniform, put on her best command face, then touched her comm controls. “Kapitan Mercia, Captain Bradamont, we are very happy to see you. Remain in your current vector. I expect CEO Boucher to alter vector to attack you. We will give the ground forces what remaining support we can, then head to meet up with Midway before you encounter the Syndicate flotilla. For the people, Marphissa, out.”
“Kommodor,” Diaz said after she ended the transmission, “Happy Hua might decide to strike at General Drakon before heading to attack the Midway.”
“No, she will not.” Marphissa turned a fierce look on Diaz. “The Syndicate was waiting for us here. They knew a lot about our plans and our forces. They will have told CEO Boucher that the Midway’s weapons are still not operational, and using Syndicate standards, Hua will feel safe in assuming those weapons could not possibly have been brought to operational status in this short a time. She will be furious that Midway’s bluff chased her from Midway Star System last time. She will want to counter what she believes to be another bluff. Happy Hua’s priority will be to catch and destroy Midway before she can escape from Ulindi.”
Diaz smiled. “Hua is going to close her hand on a bear trap.”
“And we’re going to be there when she does. But first, we’re going to give the ground forces what support we have left.” Marphissa called up an image of the last-known status of the ground forces. “Are they still in the buildings or have they taken the base? We can’t drop a bombardment if we don’t know. Have your comm people try to get in contact with the ground forces.”
“Get on it,” Diaz ordered the bridge comm specialist. “Tell comms I want to punch through to the ground forces.”
“Yes, Kapitan,” she replied. “There is still a lot of jamming and other interference, and the ground forces’ transmitters are relatively weak. But we will do it if it can be done.”
Diaz leaned back, looking pensive as he gazed at his display. “I worked for a sub-CEO once who would have told me to do it even if it couldn’t be done.”
“I worked for one like that, too,” Marphissa said. “Three like that. At least we’re closing on the ground forces’ locations. Maybe when we get close enough, we can talk to someone.”
“Half an hour until we should be in orbit directly over the ground forces,” Diaz said.
Marphissa stirred, touching a comm control. “Sentinel, have you or other Hunter-Killers been able to monitor activity on the surface?”
Sentinel’s reply took almost six minutes. “Negative, Kommodor. We have seen fighting and figures moving, but our ability to see through all of the smoke and chaff is pretty low. All we can tell you for certain is that fighting is still under way around the base.”
Marphissa waved away the virtual window showing Sentinel’s commanding officer. Asking the Hunter-Killers had been a long shot. They were small, they had relatively limited and weak sensors compared to those on larger warships, and as Sentinel had said, there was so much junk in the atmosphere that seeing what was going on at the level of detail necessary to distinguish between Midway soldiers in Syndicate battle armor and Syndicate soldiers in Syndicate battle armor would have required a miraculous level of luck.
“Kommodor,” Senior Specialist Czilla announced. “We have firm tracks on both of Haris’s cruisers.”
Marphissa checked that portion of her display, smiling as she saw that the vectors for both cruisers were heading to an intercept with the Syndicate flotilla. We walked into your trap, Happy Hua. Now you are doing what we expect and what we want, and the trap will spring on you.
“Kommodor,” the comm specialist said, “we do not know whether any of our messages have reached General Drakon’s forces, but we have just received a text-only message for you from the planet. Our ground forces must have gained access to a more powerful transmitter, but it appears text-only is all they can get through the jamming that Haris’s forces are maintaining.”
“What does it say?” Marphissa asked, resting her chin in one hand while she gazed at the old depiction of the ground situation.
“Have taken enemy base,” the comm specialist recited. “Drakon forces now inside base. Under heavy attack from estimated division-strength Syndicate ground forces outside base. Request any assistance possible.”
Diaz shook his head. “How can we believe that? Haris could have sent it, trying to fool us into bombarding Drakon. What if it is our own ground forces that are still outside, attacking Haris’s forces inside the base?”
“That’s a very good point,” Marphissa said, frowning. “Every text message looks the same, no matter who sent it. How can we tell one side from the other when we’re looking down at a ground battle from orbit, and both sides are wearing the same battle armor? Is that the entire message?” she demanded of the comm specialist. “Was there anything else?”
“Just a section at the end that must have gotten garbled, Kommodor,” the comm specialist replied.
“What does it say?”
“It says . . . wash your sins away in the tide. That’s what it says, Kommodor. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Wash—?” Marphissa sat straight. “Show it to me. Show me the entire text message.”
A window popped into existence next to her, the lines of text marching across it. There at the end was the phrase the comm specialist had repeated. “Wash your sins away in the tide,” Marphissa repeated out loud, smiling with relief.
“Does that mean something?” Diaz asked. “What does that mean?”
“It means, Kapitan, that whoever sent that text message is a person entrusted by President Iceni with certain phrases that allow other trusted people to recognize them. President Iceni trusted the person who sent this text message enough to give them that phrase. I will believe that the message is true.”
“But what if Haris learned the phrase?” Diaz objected.
“If that is true, if he knows that much, then we are lost,” Marphissa said.
“But . . . the message claims they are under attack from an entire division of Syndicate ground forces that we didn’t know were ther
e? An entire division?” Diaz asked.
“You would make a very bad yes-man,” Marphissa said. “That’s one of the things I like about you as a Kapitan, but don’t take it too far. Think about it, and it makes sense. That Syndicate division is the ground forces equivalent of the Syndicate battleship that was hidden, waiting for us in space. I don’t know how they managed it, but it’s a classic snake trick. Let someone think they have the upper hand, let someone believe that they are in control, and then when they have stuck their necks out, bring the axe down.”
“That’s right,” Diaz said. “So we assume that General Drakon’s forces are inside the base?”
“Yes.” She turned to look at the comm specialist. “See if you can get a message back down to them. I want to—” The comm specialist got a look that caused Marphissa to stop speaking. “What is it?”
“Another text-only, Kommodor, but only partial. Barrage incoming. Require assis— And then nothing.”
“Does that make sense?” Diaz asked Marphissa.
“Yes, it does,” Marphissa replied. “I talked about this once with someone who had encountered it. Transmitters at fortified bases are buried beneath the surface so they won’t be destroyed, but in order to send a message, they require antenna links leading up to the surface. Barrages that destroy objects on the surface will break the links, so that even though the transmitter still works, it cannot get a signal through the rock above it.”
“Is that what happens?” Diaz asked. “I never thought about that.”
“Of course not! Up here, we never have to deal with that problem unless we’re trying to send a message straight through a planet, and how often does a planet block our line of sight to another ship or planet without any other ships or objects to relay the transmission?” Marphissa jerked her chin at her display. “That’s how they tricked us here. We’re used to seeing everything that’s out there, being able to talk to anything. We don’t think in terms of hidden enemies or obstacles, not unless we’re really close to a planet.”
“I can promise you,” Diaz said, “that I will be thinking much more about those things from now on.”
“You and me both.” Marphissa switched her attention back to the image of the captured enemy base and the area around it. “As soon as we can spot targets, we’ll plan the bombardment. We don’t have many bombardment projectiles left, but maybe we’ll find something worth taking a shot at.”
They were five minutes out from the planet when the combined data from the sensors on the Hunter-Killers and Marphissa’s cruisers finally produced a partial but ugly picture. “Lots of ground forces in the open, here and here,” Diaz noted.
“Yes. It looks like a lot more on this side, though. All of the other areas around the base have some soldiers, but they’re spread out.” Marphissa reached out, touching several spots not far from the base where the masses of enemy soldiers were heading. What if I am wrong? What if those are Drakon’s soldiers, making a last-ditch attempt to take the base? But there are so many of them.
Look how many are dying. I can see them, even from this far away, the masses surging against the obstacle of the fortifications and dying. Honore Bradamont told me that General Drakon doesn’t do that. He doesn’t waste the lives of his people in human-wave attacks.
It is a Syndicate mind that is ordering those attacks.
They are the enemy.
Marphissa touched the commands that turned her indicated points into targets for bombardment, using the six projectiles remaining. Only six, but they would cause tremendous damage where they hit. She paused, taking one last second to ensure she really wanted to do this, then touched the commands to authorize the bombardment and for it to launch automatically when her cruisers reached the right point. “Give me a vector to join up with Midway,” she told Diaz. “We’ll move onto it as soon as the bombardment launches.”
Two more messages to send. “General Drakon, I don’t know if you will hear this, but please accept this close-bombardment support with the compliments of the mobile forces.”
And, finally, “Sentry, Sentinel, Scout, Defender, you are to join up with the main formation as we swing by the planet. Take up your assigned positions in box formation one.
“We have a battleship to destroy.”
—
“WHAT the hell does that mean?” Iceni’s tone could have sliced through solid diamond, but of course the image of Kapitan Kontos before her did not flinch. Kontos was light-hours distant and this message had been sent hours ago.
“Watch the different stars,” Kontos repeated, as if he were responding to her question even though he couldn’t have heard it for hours yet. He must have known that Iceni would want the message restated. “The Dancers sent us that message, marked for the symmetries of this star system. I believe that is intended to mean you and General Drakon, since you are the two governing leaders here. That was the entire message.
“We have not yet heard anything from Black Jack’s force. I await your orders. For the people, Kontos, out.”
As Kontos’s image disappeared, Iceni looked at the virtual windows providing views of the many places where restive citizens were still gathered, waiting for either something that would calm them or the trigger that would cause them to explode. She had kept the police in their stations and their substations, guessing that with all forms of communication media shut down and no other stimuli provoking them, the citizens would mill about indecisively.
But that state of affairs could not last. She had to defuse the citizens. As soon as she heard from Colonel Rogero that his preparations were complete, she would find out whether or not Rogero’s gamble would work. If it didn’t work . . . well, Rogero had already said it. There wouldn’t be any way to try anything else except huddling inside fortified areas and waiting for the rioting to burn itself out.
Gwen Iceni had a lot of practice at hiding her true feelings and projecting what her audience wanted to see. That was a necessary survival tool in the Syndicate, where most superiors did not care if they were being lied to as long as the lies were the ones those superiors wanted to see and hear. It was also a very important skill to use with the workers, who would believe the lies because the lies held the only hope the workers could have, and the workers needed hope, even false hope, to continue on day after day.
Now, despite the anxiety she felt and her anger at those who had engineered these crises facing her, despite her worries about the fate of the forces sent to Ulindi and in particular (admit it to yourself, Gwen, even if you never will to him) worries about the fate of Artur Drakon, Iceni presented an image of calm confidence as she touched the command to transmit a message to Black Jack. “Admiral Geary, my friend, I am hoping it is you who have returned to this star system.” Even though you haven’t contacted me yet. Are you waiting to see what I do about the mobs? “We are currently undergoing some minor domestic disturbances, which I regret to say are occupying my full attention. General Drakon is at Ulindi, assisting the people there in throwing off the chains of the Syndicate. You will be pleased to hear that your Captain Bradamont has proven to be an exceptionally valuable resource in our attempts to both defend this star system and to create a more stable system of governance for it. I regret that she is currently aboard our battleship Midway, which is also at Ulindi, and cannot speak to you directly. I assure you that she is both safe and highly respected by the officers and specialists of our military forces.
“From what I can see, it appears that the aliens called the Dancers are returning home. I would appreciate confirmation of this.” I hate begging. Why did you make me ask, Black Jack? I suppose you’re just reminding me how much power you have compared to me. “They sent us a message directly. Watch the different stars. We have no idea what that means.” Would Black Jack? When last here, he had claimed to have only basic communication with the alien minds of the Dancers, but perhaps in the time since then, some breakthroughs had occurred.
“I am certain that our current domestic disturb
ances are the work of foreign agents.” And perhaps some local sources. But who are they? “I will be focusing my efforts on calming the situation here without resorting to Syndicate methods.” Those methods are no longer available to me even if I wanted to use them, but I might as well present the whole mess in the best possible light.
“Please advise me of your plans. I remain your friend and ally, President Iceni.” Don’t make me crawl! You need me, too, whether you realize it or not! “For the people. Out.”
It would take nearly eight hours to receive a reply if Black Jack sent one. Space is too damned big, Iceni thought. Where is—?
A special tone sounded on her comm system. Iceni’s hand darted out to touch the receive command and watched Colonel Rogero’s image appear once more. He was in a clean uniform now, but his sidearm holster was empty. “The ground forces have been briefed and prepared, Madam President. Everyone fully understands what the risks are, what we are to do, and what must not be done. We are ready.”
“Why are you unarmed, Colonel?” Iceni asked.
“I will go out there with my soldiers.”
“There has already been one recent attempt to assassinate you, Colonel. Did something about the event cause it to not register on your mind? Were the explosions too small?”
Rogero smiled in the face of her wrath. “I understand the risk, Madam President. I do have a concealed weapon. But I believe it is critically important that I go out there with my men and women, and I cannot look as if I am threatening my own soldiers by being armed when they are not.”
“Colonel Rogero,” Iceni said in her most even voice, “you do realize that, if our fears regarding Ulindi come true, you may be the senior surviving ground forces officer? That the future security of Midway Star System may already be dependent on your survival and your steady hand?”
This time, Rogero hesitated a moment before replying. “Madam President, I would not be going out there if I did not believe it was absolutely necessary to ensure that Midway has a future. There is an old saying that he who will not risk cannot win. I am certain that applies here.”
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