Ship of Destiny

by Frank Chadwick

  “Defeatist crap!” Cedric shouted. “You’re saying there’s no way to beat them? That they can just come in here and crush us any time they want because they have longer-range directed-energy weapons?”

  “No, sir,” Stevens answered. “They have some vulnerabilities, chief among them being how slow they are. Our ships are a lot more maneuverable. And I’ll tell you, they seem pretty shy about making in-system jumps. If it was our only option left to us, I’d say send some ships to jump in behind them, especially while they’re still above the ecliptic plane and there’s very little risk of annihilation events. Turn their flank. But they took that option away when they shut down our jump drives.”

  “Okay, so what about a decapitation strike? Their big fleet is two weeks away. Let’s go after P’Daan and his squadron now. Four warships and his command vessel—we should be able to take them out.” But Stevens was shaking his head again.

  “We’ve got six cruisers here at K’tok, two beat-up destroyers, and three armed transports. Most of the rest of the combatant fleet is at the gas giant Mogo, except Puebla. She’s about halfway between here and Mogo, not sure why. One of your black ops projects, Jake?”

  “It was,” Jacob answered and turned to look at Cedric. “The CNO has authority for it now.”

  Stevens looked from one to the other and when neither of them said anything more he shrugged and went on. “Well, in addition to our ships at K’tok, the uBakai contingent is here as well, but I’m not sure we can persuade them to undertake offensive action. Even if we do, it’s moot. P’Daan still has working jump drives, unless he’s a total idiot and didn’t customize the broadcast command to our drive systems only. As soon as we start after his personal ships he can just jump away, jump out-system, wait a week or so, jump back and join his main fleet. There’s no risk jumping away and he’s about far enough out of the gravity well to do it already.

  “So, without our own jump drives there’s not much we can do, sir. I’ve already sent a warning order to the ships at Mogo to prepare to bend orbit for K’tok. As it is, it’ll take most of the two weeks for them to get back here. Might want to pull Puebla back in as well. Looks as if its trajectory is going to take it close to P’Daan’s personal squadron.”

  Cedric pretended to think about their tactical options, but his mind was on Stevens himself. He definitely wasn’t the man for this job. All he saw were problems, their own problems. The enemy had problems too, must have. They always did. It was just a matter of figuring them out, but Stevens couldn’t see past any of the clutter.

  In a way, this whole mess was Stevens’ fault. If he’d handled the fitness report issue better to start with, Bitka never would have been in command of the Bay. That young exec would have been, and even though Cedric didn’t have much use for Bitka, he doubted the exec could have gotten the ship out of that mess. Probably got it blown up or something and that would have been the end of that. One missing ship, no explanation, pin it on the uBakai and then take care of business. Instead they had this.

  “So, what do we do instead?” Cedric demanded. “It’s your fleet, Gordo. What are your plans?”

  Stevens looked at him and then at Jacob and shook his head. “It’s not like I like the guy, but right now I wish Bitka was here. He’d probably come up with something.”

  “Bitka!” the CNO spat out. “The hell with Bitka. He wasn’t all that smart, just lucky.”

  “Well,” Stevens said, “smart or lucky, I’d take some of either one right now.”

  Cedric saw Jacob nodding in agreement. Jacob had always been a worrier, too. Cedric needed someone with some goddamned confidence, someone who would actually commit to getting the job done. That’s how problems got solved: find someone willing to do it, whatever it took, and then back them all the way. If they failed, well, that was their fault, wasn’t it? Fire them, find someone else, give the job to them. But this time there might not be a second chance, and if they lost . . .

  He’d have to wait to see if contact with Earth and the rest of the Cottohazz really had been cut. They’d know for sure long before the battle came, but if P’Daan could turn off every jump drive in the Cottohazz, the war was over, and the first people to recognize that were going to be the only ones who had very good long-term prospects. If they really didn’t have any good military options, they might still have a diplomatic one, but not through those idiots on the armistice commission. This wasn’t a task he could not job out. He would have to handle this himself.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Four days later, on board LAS-17 USS Cam Ranh Bay,

  in high orbit above K’tok

  27 September 2134

  Lieutenant Homer Alexander strapped himself into the command chair after relieving Ensign Bob DaSilva as OOD. There wasn’t much to do at anchor watch, but they still had to stand it. Too much crap going on to act like it was business as usual. Jesus! They’d come all this way back, got to K’tok, and instead of the brass letting them go home, they’d been slapped in quarantine. No sooner were they out than P’Daan breaks their jump drives. So now they were as good as his prisoners, but no crazy Destie mechanics around to fix their drive. No Captain Bitka, either.

  “Anything interesting, Joe?” he asked Signaler First Lakhanpal in the Comm chair beside him. Homer had relieved DaSilva an hour early so Lakhanpal was still on but had been here for the last five hours as well.

  “Te’Anna shook that Troatta long ship off her tail like it was standing still, sir. Bandit gave up about four hours ago. We got so used to how slow these battleships are, it’s kinda weird thinking of a Guardian ship that’s fast. But that little bird of hers has some goddamn legs on it, that’s for sure. I didn’t even know she had a ship of her own, sir. Did you?”

  Homer shook his head. “No idea, and now I wonder what she’s thinking, coming here.”

  “Can’t ask her, sir. Orders.”

  “Yeah, I know, Joe. Comm blackout to and from except authorized stations, which we ain’t. Just wondering, that’s all.”

  “You think it’s a trick, sir? Like maybe she’s in with P’Daan now?”

  Homer stretched as he thought about that and started to link his hands behind his head, but then remembered how many times he’d seen the captain do exactly that in this chair and he just scratched his scalp instead. He’d never spent enough time with Te’Anna to know what to make of her. He knew the captain trusted her, but what good had that done him?

  “I really don’t know, Joe. I’d love to, and that’s a fact.”

  “You think maybe she busted him out and is bringing him home?”

  Homer turned and snapped, “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that again!” It came out louder than he meant it to and the other two petty officers on duty turned to look, then quickly turned back when they saw the scowl on his face.

  “Sorry, sir,” Lakhanpal said quietly.

  “Ah, shit, I’m sorry for blowing up. It’s just that . . . don’t say it, okay? You might jinx it.”

  Lakhanpal’s face cleared and he nodded. “I get it. Aye, aye, sir. Mum’s the word.”

  Homer smiled. “That’s right, Joe. Mum’s the word. So, any signal traffic between Te’Anna’s racer and K’tok?”

  “Lots of it, sir, but all tight-beam and restricted. About all I know I get from the vidfeed, comes up the needle to highstation and then on to us. Once in a while they release a clip of her talking about what she’s offering, no strings attached. What do you think, Mister Alexander? You want to live forever?”

  “I’ve always wanted to, Joe. In a way, I guess I never believed I was going to die, not really. Now that maybe it’s a possibility . . . I don’t know. I’ll have to think about that.”

  “Well, her ship’s getting real close, sir, retro-burning hard to get into orbit. Lieutenant Barr-Sanchez says looks like she’s going to dock with Highstation later today. Maybe you ought to make up your mind. Might have your chance sooner than you thought,” he said with a grin.

  �
��I guess,” Homer said. “I’ll tell you what, I sure would like to look inside her ship, see if anyone’s with her. I sure would.”

  The bridge hatch opened, Ka’Deem Brook entered, and all conversation stopped. He looked around and met Homer’s eyes.

  “XO,” Homer said with deliberate emphasis, a title he enjoyed using since Commander Beauchamp had come up the needle to relieve Brook a week earlier and Homer no longer had to call him Captain.

  Brook nodded, looked around again, his eyes empty, and he left.

  The conversations resumed.

  “Senator,” Admiral Cedric Goldjune said, rising from his chair and extending his hand. “I am honored you chose to accept my invitation. Please, shall we sit in my lounge? You must be exhausted from the ride up the needle.”

  “Actually, I feel quite good, Admiral,” Ramirez y Sesma said as he sank into a large armchair. “I caught up on my sleep coming up. The last few days have been very busy and the respite was much needed.” He looked around the office, his gaze lingering on the smartwalls which showed the exterior view: the near orbital space around Highstation, the two dozen other ships, most of them commercial vessels, seemingly motionless there, the two or three tiny shuttles moving among them, and he nodded. “Your flagship is an impressive vessel.”

  Cedric sat down in another armchair. “Thank you, sir, but technically USS Olympus Mons is not my flagship. It is assigned to Vice Admiral Stevens, but we’re sharing it for the duration of my visit.”

  “Ah, and how long will that be now? None of us knows. Tell me, do you believe there will be a battle?”

  Cedric pretended to think about that for a few seconds, but of course he knew what he had planned to say. “I believe P’Daan will wait until his combined fleet is closer and then deliver an ultimatum of some sort. If we fail to accept, there will be a battle.”

  “And how will that battle turn out, do you think?”

  “We are outnumbered and outgunned. We will certainly lose.”

  They sat in silence for some time and Cedric watched a utility shuttle move away from Olympus Mons toward Highstation.

  “We have no options?” the senator asked eventually. Aside from his eye movement having sped up and his voice now being pitched a bit lower, probably to compensate for the tendency to rise, he gave no evidence of his fear, but that was enough.

  “Well, sir, I think our only options are policy options, not military ones. But I don’t make policy; I only follow orders. If we really are cut off from the rest of the Cottohazz—and every additional day without contact makes that more certain—there will be no orders for me from anywhere, no policy direction. We cannot even be sure there is anyone left to make such a decision. Who is to say this is the only Guardian fleet which has come? Our best intelligence suggests the Guardians in the near stellar neighborhood of Destination might be able to muster a thousand ships, and we have only seen thirty here.

  “I think someone has to make a decision, and quite frankly sir, the members of the armistice commission are not intellectually or temperamentally equipped to do so.” Cedric left unsaid who he hoped might have that equipment, although he could see his mention of a thousand Guardian ships had started the senator sweating.

  “I have no such authority, unfortunately,” Ramirez y Sesma answered, his eyes darting nervously about the room.

  “Senator, if I may speak frankly, allow me to point out that no one anywhere within the former extent of the Cottohazz currently has legal authority to do anything. I say former extent advisedly, because the harsh truth is that once all interstellar travel and communication was interdicted, the Cottohazz as a practical, functioning political entity ceased to exist. You can’t speak for the Cottohazz, but you are the senior elected civilian official present from the governments of the four nations of the Outworld Coalition. Senator, as CNO of the Outworld Coalition, I will follow your orders, as will every coalition ship in this system. I think it is a safe bet the various Cottohazz ships will join us out of necessity, although it may take some hard convincing once the time comes.”

  Ramirez y Sesma took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his face before answering. “But to what end, Admiral? You said yourself our military options are nonexistent.”

  Cedric keyed open a virtual folder on his desk and then tapped it with his finger. “This is Johnstone’s report on the sociology of the Guardians. Those Troatta battleships are on loan to P’Daan. Someday they’ll have to go back home to their own gods, or whatever they call them. How is P’Daan going to manage the one hundred and seventy-one sovereign nation-states, comprising six different intelligent species, of the Cottohazz? These people have never had to manage anything as complex as this. All they know is a planet or two where everyone already agrees on everything, particularly who’s in charge. Who’s going to manage that? Who’s going to serve as liaison between P’Daan and the Cottohazz? Don’t you think, sir, that our people’s welfare will be better served if the liaisons are of their own species?”

  “Quislings, you mean,” the senator said, his face unreadable.

  “To be thought of that way is probably a burden such people would have to carry. Not everyone would have the strength to pick that burden up.”

  The senator’s gaze returned to the smartwall as he thought that through.

  “This Te’Anna’s ship arrives in a few hours,” the senator said, still looking at the spacescape through the wall, “and e-Lotonaa, the day after. Special envoy plenipotentiary for the Executive Council.” He turned back to Cedric. “Plenipotentiary. Tasyvaalt’aynoon in aGavoosh. God, the Varoki love that word! Lord knows why, because it keeps getting them into trouble. But it means he actually has authority to speak for the Cottohazz, particularly in an emergency such as this. The Guardian Te’Anna and Special Envoy e-Lotonaa—how do their arrivals affect your calculations?”

  Cedric sat back in his chair. “How many battleships are they bringing with them, sir?”

  Cassandra Atwater-Jones longed to know whom, if anyone, Te’Anna had brought with her, much as Homer Alexander onboard Cam Ranh Bay longed to know. Unlike him, she was able to satisfy that longing nine hours later—watching the live vid-feed on the restricted access Naval senior staff channel, as Te’Anna debarked from her ship’s shuttle at Highstation. Te’Anna was not alone. There were two other Guardians with her, whom Te’Anna quickly identified to the waiting staff as K’Irka and H’Stus. Cassandra brought up several intelligence folders and then watched as hazmat-suited station crew searched and decontaminated the small shuttle, and she received the reports of the other crew who had done the same to the Guardian’s main ship in orbit near the station. There was no one else.

  She sat back and closed her eyes. She had not dared to hope he was there, but admitted the possibility. She tried to identify how she felt about this new reality, but she simply felt empty. Her commlink vibrated and she saw the ID tag for Rear Admiral Jacob Goldjune.

  You watching this, Cass? she heard in her head when she opened the link.

  “Yes, sir. I’m also looking at some still visuals from Cam Ranh Bay’s records. The second one does appear to be K’Irka, based on its markings. We have no visual imagery on the Guardian named H’Stus. The crew of the Bay never had any sort of contact with him.”

  I was about to ask you if we could verify any of this. Glad you’re on top of it. He paused before speaking again. Sorry he wasn’t with them.

  Cassandra closed her eyes and took a steadying breath before replying. “As am I, Admiral, but I am not surprised. I doubt you were either, but I appreciate the sentiment. Has the CNO developed a plan for dealing with P’Daan’s fleet?”

  If either he or Gordo Stevens has, no one’s told me, and that makes me nervous. Your new friend Ramirez y Sesma was gone most of the day—up-needle, but he’s back now. Something’s going on and we’re out of the loop. Only one thing to do when that happens.

  “Make our own loop,” Cassandra said, and she heard the admiral laugh sof
tly.

  God, I do love the way you think. The Guardian new arrivals are coming down-needle and they’ll meet with you first and alone. I’ll run interference, but you size them up, get a handle on what they really want.

  “With an eye toward what end, sir?”

  Will they help us beat P’Daan, and if so, how?

  “And if your brother has other plans?”

  Well, I hope that’s not the case. I really do. But if it is, I have your sidekick Nuvaash working on another option.

  Cassandra heard the regret in his voice, and was reminded that whatever their differences now, Jacob and Cedric were still brothers. “What other option, sir, if I may ask?”

  The Executive Council’s new special envoy has said he wants to talk to that Varoki diplomat who negotiated with the Troatta back at Destination. Haykuz, right? Isn’t that his name? The special envoy wants to meet him tomorrow when his ship docks. Nuvaash is talking to Haykuz tonight.

  She wasn’t sure what Haykuz could do other than vouch for them to the special envoy, but that was something. Perhaps it was the means to open an informal line of communication.

  “Excellent idea, sir. We have to have e-Lotonaa behind us, and ideally the senator as well. If we do, the military will likely fall in line.”

  Yes, Cass, but that doesn’t mean beans if we don’t have a military plan to go with it. So work on those Guardians. See if they can help. Judging by the fancy maneuvering they had to do to get by P’Daan’s ships, I’d say they’re willing to help. Able is another story. You know, if we beat P’Daan here, really beat him, we still have a chance of getting Bitka back.

  Cassandra said nothing at first. He meant well, but one reached a point where prolonging those sorts of vague hopes was simply an exercise in cruelty.