Rimward Stars (Castle Federation Book 5)

by Glynn Stewart

  “I’m impressed with your intelligence network,” the pirate told him, the sudden change in topic almost enough to catch James flat-footed. “We’re a long way out of the Commonwealth’s area of concern, and you knew about the Fox’s arrival before I did. I have confirmed it now, of course.”

  “Of course,” James murmured. They might work together, but Coati didn’t trust the Terrans further than they did here.

  “I’ll note that these worlds are occupied by humanity,” he told the pirate. “That means that they are part of our area of concern. All of humanity will unify eventually. It’s inevitable.”

  The price might be higher than, say, one James Tecumseh was entirely comfortable with…but he’d seen the worlds in the Commonwealth and the worlds in places like the Antioch-Serengeti Free Trade Zone. Quality of life, life expectancy, general health…the Commonwealth might not be far ahead of places like the Castle Federation, but worlds like these needed the Commonwealth.

  And many of the members of the so-called Alliance were closer to worlds like these than to worlds like Castle.

  “And you people think I’m the scary one,” Coati replied. “You know what you’re going to get with a pirate: I’ll steal your shit, kill you if you’re inconvenient, rape you if I’m bored. A fanatic, though? One of you lot might do any of those things if you think it’s justified…but you’ll convince yourself it’s all for a higher cause.”

  “Most of us have our honor,” James objected. “There are lines the Commonwealth will not cross.”

  “Right. So, we were talking about a plan to deal with your enemy’s warships that are out here to stop me raping and pillaging my way across twenty star systems, weren’t we?” the pirate warlord said dryly.

  “We were,” the Commodore grated out. Coati had an absolute gift for finding sore spots. “Have you learned anything of value?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have. Your intel is good on Alliance fleet movements. Mine? Mine tells me what the Shipping Commission is doing,” Coati told him. “They had four ships at Antioch. Two have left for Istanbul; two have left for Lodestone on their way to Serengeti.”

  “We can intercept the Serengeti convoy more easily,” James pointed out. “Do you know which warships went where?”

  “They’re even stopping at Salvatore, which will give us more time to get into position,” the pirate concluded. “I don’t know which ships went where, Commodore, but I know only one ship went with the convoy to Lodestone.”

  “Convenient,” the Terran said softly. “Don’t underestimate these people, Coati. I’ll take Poseidon to Serengeti; I expect you to bring your corsairs to meet me there.”

  “How many would you like?” Coati asked.

  “As many as can make it,” James told him. “If they sent two ships with one convoy and one with the other, the single ship is the more modern, more powerful one.

  “You’ve never fought a real modern warship, Commodore Coati. Do not expect this to be easy.”

  #

  Chapter 21

  Deep space en route to Istanbul System

  00:05 October 15, 2736 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time

  DSC-052 Kodiak

  Midnight. The middle of an FTL dark watch.

  There was no quieter time aboard any Alcubierre warship, especially on the flight deck. Flight operations were impossible. Attack was impossible. Engineering issues were possible—one had made the Old Man skipper of the old Avalon—but that didn’t make it onto the flight deck.

  Michelle sat on the nose of her bomber, looking down the rows of stacked spacecraft. For all that the ships only had a crew of three apiece, they were massive things. A Falcon was a thirty-meter-wide triangle, a Vulture a forty-meter-long egg-like pod with wing-like torpedo mounts.

  They dwarfed the tiny humans who flew them, but were dwarfed in turn by the scale of the vessels that carried them between the stars…and by the energies those tiny humans could unleash to destroy any of the spacecraft they had built.

  The Vulture she sat on was unarmed at the moment, the twenty-meter length of her torpedoes missing and rendering the craft strangely skeletal in their absence.

  Which was about how Michelle felt without Angela. She didn’t need the other woman to complete her, she was pretty comfortable on her own two feet now, but without Angela around, she felt like she was missing a few extra pieces.

  “Penny for your thoughts, Wing Commander,” a voice cut through the dimly lit gleam, and she looked away from the machines to see Vice Commodore Song also pacing the deck, her face almost invisible in the interplay of shadows.

  “About a step and a half away from bad romantic poetry,” Michelle admitted. “Missing my girlfriend.”

  “She’s with Fourth Fleet, right?” Song asked. “They saw some heated action, but it sounds like most of them came through all right.”

  “Angela’s on the new hospital ship they’re testing the concept for,” the junior woman said. “She isn’t in danger unless the whole damned fleet has come apart. I’m afraid she spends more time worrying about me than herself.”

  “That’s war,” Song agreed. “Tears apart lovers, families. The lucky ones get put back together in the end, but it’s almost never the same.”

  “You have someone, ma’am?”

  “What, the rumor mill hasn’t betrayed all of my secrets already?” the Vice Commodore asked with a sad smile. “I’m widowed, Williams. My husband died in the opening salvoes of the war.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

  “I’m not alone,” Song told her. “Richard died a long time ago now, and I found some comfort with a dear friend who became more. I’ll keep some of my own secrets still, though.”

  “Do you ever wonder what’ll happen when the war’s over and we go home?” Michelle asked.

  “Not really,” the CAG replied. “I have today. It’s easier for me, I suspect. My lover isn’t on the front lines.”

  Michelle was pretty sure she knew who the CAG’s lover was, but if the older woman didn’t want to share, she wasn’t going to prod.

  “I just wonder…” She sighed. “…if maybe the best idea isn’t to wait until it’s all over before making long-term plans.”

  “I don’t know,” Song admitted. “I…survived Richard’s death, but I won’t pretend I’m all put back together. Maybe once the war’s over, I’ll consider the future. But for today, I can’t see past the next sortie, making sure all of my people come home.”

  “Fair, ma’am. I’m not sure I can be that…focused.”

  “Don’t need to be,” the CAG replied. “Up to you what path you want to take. A lot of people got married before going off to war. A lot of others waited till they came home. Do what works for you.”

  “Useful advice,” Michelle half-complained.

  “Oh, I know,” Song agreed. “But I’m a bitter widow with a comfortable bedwarmer. Don’t let my cynicism warp you!”

  The way Song spoke of her lover made it very clear that he was more than “a comfortable bedwarmer,” but the essence was true, and Michelle shook her head.

  “War wounds us all,” she finally said. “One way or another.”

  #

  The strategic briefing made for rough reading. If Kyle had been able to sleep, he’d have left it for morning, but his dreams were full of exploding battleships and dying friends tonight. The office attached to his quarters didn’t have all of the amenities of his main workspace by the bridge, but it did have a fridge and a coffee machine.

  He’d talked the latter device into producing hot chocolate while he sat in his office chair and went over the details that the Alliance Joint Chiefs felt all capital ship commanders had needed to know.

  A Commonwealth offensive, apparently under the command of Marshal Walkingstick himself, had slammed into Midori, site of one of the biggest early battles of the war. They’d wrecked most of the resupply infrastructure in the system, along with battering three Federation carriers into impotent wrecks before Fou
rth Fleet had arrived.

  Walkingstick had declined a fleet engagement, leading Fourth Fleet in a long-range missile and starfighter duel across the system before withdrawing. Fourth Fleet’s analysts suggested they’d permanently crippled at least two ships, but the fighter losses had been roughly even, and the loss of the station and its defending carriers put Second Midori cleanly in the Commonwealth’s win list.

  The details on the Alliance response were sparse, but if it was Seventh Fleet at the core of it, there were only a few options. He trusted Admiral Alstairs, Seventh Fleet’s commander, but their best option was to hit a fleet base they’d been driven off from before.

  The only good news, such as it was, was the intelligence reports that the vicious knife fight in the New Edmonton system of the Stellar League seemed to have finally drawn to a close. The estimated casualty reports from that battle left Kyle feeling guilty, but he couldn’t argue the cold logic.

  He’d been involved in the black op that had provoked the Commonwealth punitive expedition into New Edmonton, an expedition that had now been sent packing after Dictator Periklos had finally concentrated a real fleet instead of sending mercenary formations in piecemeal.

  Kyle was grimly certain that the massacre of many of the more egotistical League mercenary units had been no accident. The League might be short a dozen carriers and their battle-hardened crews and starfighters, but the rest had fallen in line behind their new Dictator.

  A Dictator who knew perfectly well why this war had come to his systems. There were going to be consequences for that, but right now both the Alliance and the League were struggling for their lives against the nine-hundred-kilo gorilla of the Terran Commonwealth.

  And right now, his girlfriend was in the middle of an Alliance attempt to poke the gorilla in the eye.

  His command was as far from the main action as he could get, dealing with minor powers on the opposite side of the Alliance from the Commonwealth. There was nothing he could do to turn the tide of the main war except resolve the pirate situation as quickly as possible.

  Hopefully, Istanbul would have some more answers.

  #

  Chapter 22

  Istanbul System

  16:00 October 22, 2736 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time

  DSC-052 Kodiak

  “Well, Captain? How was Lodestone?” Kyle asked the image on his wallscreen.

  Sarka ran her fingers along the scar on her face thoughtfully. The two Captains were each in their own offices, steps from their bridges but private for now.

  “Smooth,” she finally said. “Well, for us.” She chuckled. “Lodestone seems to be more than a bit grumpy with the Free Trade Zone and are taking advantage of the current problems to levy import fees that are forbidden under the Zone’s rules.

  “I don’t know how well that’s going to end for anyone, but they didn’t harass us for money! The ships in the convoy, however, had to pay or they wouldn’t be allowed to land cargo.”

  “Not our problem,” Kyle confirmed. “No issues otherwise?”

  “None. Our merchant skippers swallowed their pride after I told them I wasn’t here to enforce the Trade Zone’s rules. They paid the bill, delivered their cargos and picked up new ones. We also picked up a lost stray that was here waiting for an escort.”

  “What’s your ETA to Salvatore?” Kyle asked.

  “Nine more days,” she told him. “We know Serengeti lost a carrier there, so I’m planning on being very careful in Salvatore. The freighter captains, fortunately, agree with me.”

  Given the intimidation value of Captain Sarka’s scar and glower, Kyle suspected they wouldn’t have said anything if they didn’t agree.

  “I’m guessing Lodestone’s government didn’t have any intel we didn’t already know?” he asked.

  “Not a peep,” she confirmed. “We should get some clearer sensor data on the jamming mess at Salvatore when we get there. That whole stunt stinks to me.”

  “Agreed. If you can spare the time, I’d love the old light on that,” Kyle told her. That kind of precision FTL jumping was hard but doable. “I’m not sure we’ll be able to resolve a lot more with our sensors on month-old data than we can get out of their sensors, but…it might be worth a shot.”

  “It’ll add a couple of days, but I can’t see anyone complaining. These skippers need these pirates gone so they can get back to their lives.

  “Any news out of Istanbul?”

  “We’re still about an hour from going sublight,” Kyle told her. “We’ll see what the Sultan’s court holds for us. Most of their communication has been with the Imperium so far, though they do have a treaty with the Federation as well.”

  “That’s not a great sign, sir.”

  “And making sure we deal with the warning sign before it becomes a problem is part of why we’re here,” he agreed. “And is definitely why Nebula is here.”

  “Can we just point him at the politicians and hide?” Sarka asked.

  “You could, if you were here,” Kyle said cheerfully. “I, on the other hand, am in command of this situation, which means I have to talk to them regardless. I’ll survive.

  “After all, no one is going to try to kill me.”

  Which made Istanbul safer than his own home system recently.

  #

  Even with every ship linked together by instantaneous communications that didn’t care if they were in warped space or real space, coordinated emergences were a nerve-wracking endeavor. A ship under Alcubierre-Stetson drive couldn’t see the universe outside its bubble of warped space.

  Interstellar navigation involved far more dead reckoning than any navigator wanted to admit or any spacer was comfortable thinking about. Modern technology made getting to a specific system straightforward; even getting to a specific spot in a system was easy enough.

  Making sure four ships made it to another system in roughly the same spot without hitting each other somewhere along the way was why a civilian navigator was one of the most highly paid officers aboard a freighter.

  Kodiak and Thoth executed it perfectly, emerging still in step with each other and exactly fifty thousand kilometers apart. Their two civilian charges weren’t quite as perfectly in line, but they still emerged between the two warships, guarded from any potential attacker.

  “Patrol launching,” Song reported crisply. “Echo Two on standby for bomber support, Charlie for first-strike scramble.”

  That was all her call to make, which left Kyle metaphorically comfortably sitting on his hands, watching his team swing into action while he studied the Istanbul System.

  Istanbul had eleven planets, five of them midsized gas giants whose gasses fueled the system economy, named Cyrus, Darius, Alexander, Demetrius and Khosrau. The fourth planet, the only habitable one, was named Constantinople.

  And the capital city, according to his files, was named Byzantium.

  Whoever had been naming the planets here had been having too much fun, he concluded.

  Unlike in Antioch, a steady stream of sublight ships continued to make their way between Constantinople and the five gas giants, though the ships were smaller and cruder than those in Antioch. According to his sweeps, most weren’t even using antimatter engines. Most were instead using cheap-as-dirt high-impulse, low-thrust ion engines.

  An ion engine ship wouldn’t get places very quickly, but combined with mass-manipulator tech, it could get there very, very cheaply.

  “Well, that’s an interesting solution,” Sterling murmured over the tactical net. “I’ve got six semi-mobile platforms in long transfer orbits between Constantinople and the gas giants. I’m guessing they’re fighter bases, sublight ships to protect the in-system traffic.”

  “Most systems just have the starfighters deploy to patrol themselves,” Kyle noted. “Why would they bother with those? They do have reasonably modern fighters.”

  “It would allow them to keep their fighter crews in a higher level of comfort,” Taggart pointed out. “And save f
uel: those bases are in a fixed orbit that would have at least one of them within ten million kilometers of every part of the route at all times. It’s efficient, though we wouldn’t have bothered…”

  “And you’re assuming that their entire fighter force is modern, too,” Song pointed out. “They bought Typhoons from us, Slingshots from the Imperium. All of those are fifth-generation fighters, still effective ships, but”—she paused, accessing records—“they only bought a hundred and fifty Typhoons from us and didn’t buy the design or manufacturing licenses. I imagine they got about the same from Coraline, so many of their fighters may be home-built and short-legged.”

  “I think we might be about to find out,” Sterling cut in. “I have three ships heading at two hundred gees. Sublight units, but big ones. Ten million cubic meters, four million tons or so. If they were bigger, I’d say they were A-S carriers, but…”

  “But they’re half the size of even an old carrier,” Kyle agreed. “Has anyone from Istanbul actually bothered to contact us?”

  “No, sir,” Jamison reported. “I’ll check in with Thoth.”

  “Good call,” he told her. Istanbul had called for Imperial help, after all. They might have reached out to the Coraline ship first.

  “They haven’t heard anything either,” his communications officer said a moment later. “They wouldn’t have ignored us and reached out to the freighters, would they?”

  “Unlikely,” Kyle said grimly, studying the three ships heading his way. They were still almost fifteen million kilometers away, but they were making him nervous. “We have a q-com code for Istanbul space traffic control, correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”