Rimward Stars (Castle Federation Book 5)

by Glynn Stewart

  Hayden had fired fewer missiles, but he’d launched first and his people knew exactly what they were doing. Every single pirate Katana died in the first salvo, but there was nothing to save the Commonwealth starfighters. Both sides had launched their missiles, and now all the Terran ships could do was force those missiles to come for them instead of Chariot.

  The Colonel and his people never replied to Modesitt’s demands to respond, to explain themselves. They just threw themselves into the fire and gutted the incoming starfighters and their missiles in an orgy of explosions and missiles.

  “Report,” James said as the explosions died. Please let it be over.

  “I’m reading at least eighty missiles and twenty starfighters still headed our way,” Chariot’s tactical officer replied. “Engaging with positron lances and missiles.”

  James gripped the arms of his chair as the enemy kept coming. Missiles flashed into the defensive perimeter and died. They had the speed to penetrate his defenses but lacked the numbers. The last died barely five kilometers from Chariot’s hull, washing over the ship with radiation, but they died before impact.

  “Starfighters closing,” Modesitt noted calmly. “I want them the fuck out of my sky!”

  James realized he was holding his breath, watching as the starfighters lunged toward Chariot, the numbers attached to their icons dropping—and wondering why the cruiser hadn’t fired yet.

  “Guns?” the Captain said, her voice no longer calm.

  “Making certain,” the tactical officer replied, his voice distracted. “And…now.”

  At fifty thousand kilometers, still outside the range of the lances the older starfighter design carried, twenty-four secondary positron lances, every one of the ones that Arsenault had arranged power for, fired at twenty targets.

  Thirteen died instantly, but the beams were already sweeping, a lethal pattern that wiped starfighter after starfighter from space…and then cut out as the entire cruiser lurched and the lights died.

  Again.

  #

  The fact that they were all still breathing was a positive sign, and James leveled his best “Grumpy Commodore” gaze on the tactical officer as the emergency lighting kicked back in.

  “Please tell me you got them all.”

  “I’m…” The commander swallowed. “I think so. I was half-expecting something like this from Arsenault’s complaints, so I waited until I had the best shot I was going to get.”

  “Computers are back up on batteries, but there’s nothing feeding them,” Modesitt told James. “Arsenault isn’t responding to implant messages.”

  James waved his hand experimentally.

  “Gravity is gone again,” he noted. “I suggest everyone stay still except for whoever is closest to the emergency supplies. That lucky person gets to start passing out mag-boots.”

  Magnetic boots were a mediocre solution at best to zero gravity, but they were better than having crews used to artificial gravity floating around like loose balloons.

  By the time the tactical petty officer who’d been closest had passed boots to James, he was feeling more confident that they, at least, had survived the battle. Though, of course, if the Alliance’s attack had failed, they were going to end up dead in short order.

  On the other hand, if the Alliance’s attack had succeeded, then Coati was dead and they were going to be in serious trouble when Roberts came to check on them.

  “Is anyone getting responses from outside the bridge on implant coms?” Modesitt asked.

  “I’m getting most of the ship, ma’am. Aren’t you?” her tactical officer replied.

  The Captain looked perplexed, then sighed.

  “Self-diagnostic says everything but the shortest-range transceivers are done,” she admitted. “Backlash from the link failure. Commodore, can you reach out to Arsenault?”

  James nodded and pinged the engineer. There was no response for a moment, so he tried again.

  “Would you like sensors or me to spend time gabbing at you?” the engineer snapped after a moment. “Right now, we are blind, deaf, dumb and crippled. I can’t fix any of that if you lot don’t leave me alone.”

  “An update would be nice, Commander,” James said dryly. “Status?”

  “We blew the primary power busses again,” the engineer replied. “Half the distribution network went down with it. The other half just went…away.”

  “That’s not a technical term I’m used to,” James told him.

  “We vaporized the fuck out of half of our wiring, transformers and junction boxes. Technical enough for you?”

  The Commodore winced.

  “Any time estimate on repairs?”

  “I can have some systems online soon-ish,” Arsenault told him. “Short-range coms, maybe some sensors. Enough for us to talk to that q-probe in our hold. Not much more.”

  “FTL?”

  The engineer sighed.

  “Not today,” he said quietly. “Probably not tomorrow. Forty-eight to seventy-two hours, minimum.”

  “Commander, this system has a high likelihood of remaining hostile space, even if it is now in Alliance control,” James pointed out. “If we’re sitting dead in the water for two or three days, we are quite possibly simply dead.”

  The channel was silent for several seconds.

  “I can’t do the impossible, sir,” Arsenault finally said. “Forty-eight hours minimum to get the Alcubierre drive back online. I… We’re not going to have weapons before that.” He coughed. “We’re, ah, not going to have weapons before a very long shipyard visit. If ever.”

  “Get me coms,” James said with a sigh. “One way or another, it seems I need to talk to Captain Roberts, and I’d rather not have to do that by flashing our running lights at him.”

  “Ten minutes,” Arsenault promised. “For short-range coms that can talk to their q-probe, that is. I’m not sure if the running lights are working and I don’t plan on taking the time to check.”

  #

  The engineer was as good as his word. Just under ten minutes by the clock in James’s implant later, the short-range coms came back up, linking them into both the q-probe they’d kept close against just this endeavor and the Alliance probe they’d tucked inside their hold to allow for communications with Roberts’s force.

  James was unsurprised to discover that the Alliance probe was no longer feeding him any sensor data. There was still an active channel there, but it wasn’t carrying any live information. Just…waiting.

  They had their own probes scattered around the KDX-6647, though, and those told him what he needed to know.

  The shipyard was gone. The cloud of debris was settling into orbit of Quebecois Bien and would eventually give the planet a new set of temporary rings formed of chunks of solidified metal vapor and loose debris.

  Thoth was gone with it. So were the corsairs and most of the defensive platforms that had been guarding the shipyard. A network of platforms still orbited Quebecois Bien, some of them still active, but Kodiak was well outside their range. It wouldn’t take the Federation crew long to isolate the remaining manned platforms and either destroy them or force their surrender.

  Coati’s empire was broken. The pirate had presumably died with his shipyard. The planet he’d conquered would be liberated within hours. The deal James had agreed to with Roberts was complete—and the q-probes warned him of the inevitable next stage from that.

  “I’ve got what looks like two wings of fighters heading our way,” the tactical officer announced grimly. “They’re all Falcons, none of whatever they killed Poseidon with, and it looks like they just finished rearming aboard Kodiak.

  “What do we do?”

  There weren’t a lot of choices. Chariot wasn’t combat-capable, and Colonel Hayden and his people had died keeping her as intact as she was. James was mildly surprised that there weren’t any assault shuttles in the formation sweeping toward them.

  “I’d say we can’t surrender,” Modesitt told him, “except that t
hey already know what we were doing in the Free Trade Zone.” She sighed. “I don’t see any other choice, sir. Two wings of Falcons is overkill against Chariot’s current state.”

  “Link in to that q-probe and get me a channel to Roberts,” James ordered. “Let’s see just how this ends.”

  From the speed of the response, the Federation commander had been waiting to hear from him.

  “Commodore Tecumseh.”

  “Captain Roberts. It seems our arrangement has come to an end,” James said.

  “So it seems,” the big Captain replied. “I’m not a fan of what duty requires of me, Commodore Tecumseh, but your ship is crippled and in an area under the Alliance’s protection.”

  “It seems poor recompense for fighting by your side against Coati,” the Terran pointed out. “I won’t say I’m surprised, but one might have expected better.”

  “We might have expected you not to commit acts of war against neutral parties,” Roberts said, a strange twist to his grin. “Perhaps more relevant, Commodore, is that there is no way I can justify providing technical or medical assistance to a Commonwealth vessel that has not surrendered.”

  “Chariot is helpless, Captain Roberts,” James admitted, the words ashes on his tongue. “I request that you allow us to evacuate and destroy her before we surrender ourselves as your prisoners.”

  The Federation officer looked uncomfortable, then sighed.

  “You have fought by our side,” he conceded. “Is Chariot repairable? I’m guessing she’ll never be combat-capable again.”

  “Her A-S drive may be fixed, but she’ll never fight again,” James said. No ship whose power systems had failed as completely—and repeatedly!—as Chariot’s would ever be sent into action.

  “Are you prepared to offer your parole and the parole of your crew and officers, that you will never take up arms against the Alliance again?”

  That wasn’t a question James had been expecting. It was a question normally asked of an enemy after they’d surrendered—which, James supposed, he effectively had. They both knew it. Everything from here was a formality.

  “I was not under the impression that much repatriation of prisoners was going on,” James said slowly.

  “I am a Federation capital ship commander on an independent deployment, authorized to act as both the military and political representative of my nation,” Captain Roberts stated firmly. “Exceptions can be made. Are you prepared to offer parole?”

  “I am,” James rushed out before he could think about it.

  “Your parole is granted. You will be repatriated aboard Chariot,” Roberts told him. “You may repair her and leave this system. If you are seen in Alliance-protected space again, your parole is void and you will be destroyed on sight.

  “Do you understand the conditions of your surrender, Commodore Tecumseh?”

  “I do. And thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me,” the younger man replied. “Your career won’t survive this.”

  “No,” James agreed. “But my crew will.”

  #

  Chapter 50

  KDX-6647

  12:00 December 17, 2736 2736 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time

  DSC-052 Kodiak

  With all of his starfighters finally retrieved and rearmed, Kyle was almost relaxed as Kodiak slotted neatly into a trailing orbit of Quebecois Bien.

  “We’ve identified three manned control platforms,” Sterling told him. “Without starfighters or multi-layered defenses, it’ll be child’s play to drop a missile into each of them on a ballistic course. On your order, Captain.”

  “Today is a day for last chances,” Kyle replied, eyeing the icon of the still-ballistic Chariot on her way out-system. “Set up a transmission, Jamison. Make sure both the surface and the orbitals get it.”

  “Yes, sir. Recording at your order.”

  Kodiak’s Captain inhaled deeply, letting as much as possible of the stress of the morning and its battles fade. He’d lost friends today, subordinates, people he’d respected—but that was war and the last thing he could do was let those losses be in vain.

  Nodding to Jamison, he settled himself facing the camera.

  “This message is for the forces under the command of ‘Commodore’ Antonio Coati,” he said cheerfully. “My name is Captain Kyle Roberts of the Castle Federation Space Navy and I am now in control of this star system.

  “You retain forces on the planetary surface and some orbital platforms. You may think this is sufficient to resist, but allow me to disabuse you of that notion.

  “If you fight me, I will crush you. If you surrender, you will face fair trials for any crimes you have committed against the people of Quebecois Bien, but I will guarantee that there will be no arbitrary reprisals.

  “I am in a position to begin the liberation of Quebecois Bien in one hour. Any combat formation that has not surrendered by that time will be destroyed.

  “The choice is yours.”

  A mental command ended the recording and sent it on its way.

  “So, we wait?” Taggart asked from CIC.

  “We wait. We’ll stay at Condition Two, but make sure food gets to everyone still on station,” Kyle ordered. “And tell Gonzalez to meet me in my office. Even if these bastards surrender, we’re going to need to install some kind of peacekeeping force.”

  #

  Kyle and Gonzalez were reviewing the orbital photos of what they were reasonably certain was Quebecois Bien’s capital city when Jamison linked into his office.

  “We have a transmission from the surface directed to you, Captain. Looks like one of Coati’s people.”

  “What’s the time delay?” Kyle asked. “Can we talk live?”

  “Four and a half seconds. You should be fine.”

  “All right. Put them through. Cut Gonzalez from our feed, but I want him to listen in.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jamison linked the camera to his implant for a moment, letting him make sure that they had the right angle to exclude the Marine Major without being obvious about it, then connected the call.

  A heavily muscled man with pitch-black skin and gemlike eyes similar to those sported by Coati himself stood in the middle of what appeared to be a stone-paved courtyard, wearing a simple white uniform.

  “This is Captain Roberts,” Kyle told him. “To whom am I speaking?”

  “I am General Joseph Nkrumah,” the man said nine seconds later. “I command the ground forces responsible for security on Quebecois Bien. You should know that most of my forces were in orbit and are now dead.

  “Riots are spreading through the cities. I have recalled my remaining men to our central barracks in the capital. From here, we can stand off the rioters for weeks, if not months, and any sustained siege will result in a massive loss of life.

  “The orbital platform commanders answer to me and I am prepared to negotiate terms.”

  Kyle smiled coldly.

  “You know my terms, General,” he told the man. “I will not promise better ones. Don’t think that your barracks will hold against orbital bombardment. Only my desire to minimize loss of life gives you any leverage at all here.”

  Nine seconds later, some of the stiffness seemed to drain from Nkrumah’s spine.

  “A man has to try,” he said simply. “We appear to have underestimated the Princess, Captain Roberts. I offer the immediate surrender of my men and the orbital platforms, under the sole condition that we be evacuated from Quebecois Bien within six hours.

  “I do not believe that Maria Duarte intends to leave any remnant of the Coati regime alive in her wake.”

  If this Duarte was the descendant of the rulers that the Coatis had murdered to take control, Kyle had a great deal of sympathy for her…but it was also his duty to prevent an atrocity.

  “Stand down the orbital platforms, General, and I will have shuttles on the ground inside an hour. You understand that you and your men will still face trials for crimes you have committed?”

&
nbsp; “I’ll face a court, Roberts, if you’ll promise it will be a fair one,” the General snapped. “I wouldn’t trust the same promise from Duarte.”

  “Then we have a deal.”

  Kyle cut the channel and looked to Gonzalez.

  “Major?”

  “I’m guessing I should assume he’s going to stab us in the back?”

  “Probably. I’m almost more concerned about this Maria Duarte,” Kyle admitted. “They’ve surrendered to us. Let’s make sure the locals don’t massacre them, please.”

  #

  It took less than ninety minutes after getting Federation boots on the ground and Kodiak in orbit for the call Kyle expected his meeting with Nkrumah to arrive.

  “Sir, we’re receiving a call from a woman who refuses to identify herself but insists on speaking to you in person,” Jamison told him. “They’re bouncing it through some relays to try and confuse things, but she’s in an old armored personnel carrier in the force that’s moving into the capital city.”

  “Ah,” Kyle allowed. Shaking his head, he rose from his command chair. “I’ll take Her Highness’s call in my office.”

  He left the bridge, dropped into his chair, and then linked the communication channel.

  “I presume I am speaking to Her Highness Maria Duarte, Princess of Quebecois Bien and sole surviving daughter of Pierre III, King of Quebecois Bien?” he asked as an attractive young woman in unmarked dark green fatigues appeared on his screen.

  There’d been a lot of data on Quebecois Bien in the files at l’Estación de Muerte. Once the name had been mentioned, he’d made sure to do his research.

  The woman jerked as if stung.

  “I am,” she admitted after a moment. “I see you have the advantage of me.”

  “You know my name,” Kyle replied. “While I imagine little information on the Federation has made it here, even less on Quebecois Bien has made it to the rest of the galaxy.”