Gates of Cilicia bls-1

by Michael G. Thomas

  Xenophon looked back to his own display and brought up a map of this part of the galaxy. It contained limited data, but he knew from memory where most of the main Alliance bases were.

  Okay, Fort Plymouth is about two hundred parsecs from Attica, so that would take about fourteen or fifteen jumps to get home. So about two weeks, maybe less depending on how many tankers were available. This is going to be one long trip home.

  Grandcruiser Valiant, Attica Nav Beacon, 11 Days Later

  “Action stations, due for arrival in T-Minus five minutes. All crew to your stations. This is not a drill, all crew to your station.”

  Xenophon rolled out of his bed and barely managed to avoid crashing off the side and striking the ground. His temporary quarters were inside the forward weapons battery, a cramped location that seemed to be the warmest and most uncomfortable part of the ship. He dropped to the ground and immediately felt the pangs of plantar fascia on the base of his foot. The ligament that ran from under his heel to the front of the foot had started hurting in the last few days. It wasn’t serious and was probably related to the increased physical work helping with the repair and engineering on board the Valiant. But knowing what it was didn’t make him feel any better. He rubbed the foot for a second before the sirens woke him up.

  What the hell are you doing messing with your foot at a time like this? Get your backside to your weapon station and fast! he said to himself, with more than a little embarrassment.

  He grabbed his webbing that contained his sidearm, communications handset and various tools. It wasn’t essential, but after what had happened on the station, he never wanted to face trouble without having options on his side. As he moved down the corridor, he noticed many of the other crew were doing much the same. Some carried belts with regulation sidearms thrust inside, and other carried first aid injection packs and drugs on them. One man marched past with what looked like an ancient boarding cutlass hanging from his side.

  Weird, he thought.

  Xenophon moved to his station and sat down. The screen was active and the weapons capacitors already charging up. They showed an active level of sixty percent and climbing. He pulled the straps on and started his checks. Then the weird sick feeling arrived, and he knew immediately that this meant they were coming out of lightspeed and must be near their destination.

  “This is the Captain. I have received word that all remaining Alliance vessels are in position around Attica Homeworld. We are the last ship of the line to make it here. The Lexington was destroyed during refuelling three hours ago. We are it, people. All that stands between our home and the Laconian fleet. Check your systems and prepare for battle. Good luck.”

  Nice speech, thought Xenophon sarcastically, gazing at the planet as it came into view. The blurred dot grew in size until the ship slowed to what seemed like a halt near to the Attica Nav Beacon. Lights flashed up on his tactical display and showed him the location of friendly and enemy vessels based on configuration and IFF (Identify Friend or Foe) systems. It took only a few seconds for the data to fully register, and the final figures left a sick feeling in his stomach.

  The last battle of the war looked like it was going to be one of extermination rather than glory. Xenophon watched his displays and sighed at the sight of so few warships being able to defend the last area of space between the enemy and the Homeworld. With the Alliance fleet annihilated at Aegospotami a week earlier, there were now only seven warships left to defend against an estimated Laconian fleet of nearly four hundred. On his display unit he could see nearly a hundred civilian ships moving into position around the beacon. He recognised at least three long distance passenger liners as well as over a dozen tankers.

  This isn’t a fleet. This is going to be a massacre. His heart was heavy with fear and also disappointment. It was only just over a week since his first glimpse of a battle, and now he was about to participate in the fall of the Alliance.

  “This is the Captain, ready your stations. They’re coming through!”

  The red emergency lighting came on, and the entire command centre darkened with the change. Xenophon looked up from his own displays. The walls around him were decked with display units that gave the impression they all sat in a glass room. He could see space, his homeworld and the assembled armada. Next to his targeting matrix was a full list of all Alliance vessels down to the size of lunar ferries.

  One hundred and seventy two vessels in total, and of those, only seven were warships. What are the transports going to do? Ram the enemy?

  A glimmer of movement caught his eye; at first it was nothing more than a smudge in space, but it quickly changed. The shape transformed into dozens then hundreds of larger shapes. In less than five seconds, a vast battlefleet appeared. At the centre of the dark horde was a Laconian Titan, the mightiest warship known to man. A myriad of coloured lights flickered along the ships as gun, torpedoes and missiles systems activated.

  “Open fire!” shouted the Captain.

  The sheer number of targets available dumbfounded Xenophon. The other gunners were already blasting away at the nearest Laconian cruiser, a ship that was two-thirds the size of their own vessel. He selected a dozen key areas and fired burst of laser fire. The great cutting beams of the primary lasers arced down into the ship’s hull and cut great chunks of metal from them. More shapes appeared to the right of his vision.

  More ships, this is it, he said to himself, now realising that the end was just minutes away.

  The shapes coalesced into the form of three titans. As soon as they arrived, a dozen cutter beams fired out and towards the pitiful Alliance Armada. A dull rumble in the bowels of the Valiant indicated the engines were building up power. They were noisier than expected, possibly due to the engineers pushing them way past their design limits in readiness for the desperation of the battle.

  “Keep firing!” called out the XO as he marched about the deck, watching over the officers as they directed turrets and weapons batteries against the horde. Xenophon and the others selected target after target until the area of space around the Nav Beacon was aglow with energy beams and pulses of light. It was almost beautiful, apart from the myriad of exploding ships and wreckage that was starting to fill the area.

  “Fourteen ships down, Laconian boarding pods are en route,” called out the XO.

  Xenophon shook his head as he continued to blast away. Flashes along the shielding of the Titan showed he was having no effect. He turned his attention to the smaller fighters, frigates and torpedoes. His heavy laser turrets fared better, but he was under no illusions that the Titan would decide the battle.

  How did it all come to this?

  “Incoming!” called one of the women, but Xenophon couldn’t see who was talking. It was too late. Half of the command centre vanished with a blinding blue light. Alarms flashed everywhere. Xenophon pulled at his straps to release himself, but another blast struck him and his vision turned to darkness. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Occupied Attica

  It was three months since the surrender of the Alliance, and the citizens of the colony were still moving about their day-to-day business. He might be from one of the older, more conservative families, but that didn’t make him invulnerable. Though he had requested no security, it was obvious to him that he had at least two plainclothes officers trailing him. They were good, though Xenophon could hardly justify them. Well, he was neither a security or surveillance expert. Whenever he moved closer to members of the public, they seemed to drift closer, as if they expected trouble. He looked away and concentrated on his short walk instead. They had been watching him since he had left the transmit vehicle at the station and made his way inside the civic centre of the city.

  It’s weird, but if you think about it, how much has the city changed? he thought.

  A large display board caught his eye, one of the few visual changes to the city since the occupation. Normally it displayed rules, curfews and arrest warra
nts, but this time it was something different. He stopped alongside a dozen other citizens as they watched the screen. It showed a series of explosions and a city collapsing into a great fissure.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  An older woman continued watching but called over to him.

  “Laconia, there’s something happening on their homeworld.”

  Laconia? It must be another earthquake. Either that or their automaton slaves have rebelled again, he thought.

  He watched the unfolding disaster for a little while but with no information, it was just a series of explosions, eruptions and death. Hardly something he wanted to stand and watch for the rest of the day. He turned to leave, but one of the other citizens must have recognised him and blocked his path.

  “You’re one of the survivors aren’t you?” he asked.

  Great, just what I need, a democratic acolyte.

  Xenophon glanced about, suddenly feeling vulnerable in the street. It looked safe enough, but he had heard rumours of resistance groups looking to restore democracy. Of course, there was no chance of removing the Laconians by force. They were too strong and too well equipped. His way of assisting the Thirty was the quickest and safest way, but he knew deep down that the average citizen would not see it that way. He thought back to one of Earth’s ancient leaders whom he admired greatly, the British Prime Minister, Winston Churchill.

  What was it he said? Oh yes, I remember. It was something like the best argument against democracy is a five-minute conversation with the average voter. He almost laughed out loud at the wit and truth of it.

  In the distance the plainclothes security men moved into position, and one seemed to be reaching down to something inside his jacket. He looked back at the man, but his interest seemed to already waning, as though he thought he had made a mistake. Even so, the security men looked like they were about to draw firearms.

  I can stop this.

  He took a deep breath, moved one step closer to the stranger and into the line of sight of his guards. It was a risk, but he didn’t want the blood of his own citizens on his hands.

  “Yes, I am Xenophon.”

  The man nodded, and a wry smile appeared on his face.

  “I thought as much, you spoke after the surrender. You spoke out against violence during the occupation by the Laconians. Difficult decision.”

  Xenophon nodded, but said no more. He was already starting to have doubts about that day, but it would make little difference now.

  “Any way,” the old man continued, “ I just wanted to say thank you for not running with the herd. I know most people here wouldn’t say that. I’m not most people, though. From one old soldier, I can tell you the Laconians won’t just go away because we throw a few rocks at them. They are a hard people, and they are not easily beaten. It was a mistake to go to war with them, but time will work against them. They are always vulnerable at home and they lack numbers. They don’t want to be here, just as much as we don’t want them.”

  Xenophon was intrigued. It was unusual to come across any citizen who had even the slightest inclination as to what was going on in the real world of politics.

  “Thank you, friend. Indeed, that’s why I voted against going to war.”

  “Really? Well, you were in the minority, then,” laughed the man.

  “You said, fought them? The Laconians, I mean,” asked Xenophon, now genuinely interested. There were fewer and fewer veterans of the old wars, and in his experience, they had much to offer in terms of wisdom and general anecdotes.

  “Yes, I was part of the Armada that defended our planet in the Archidamian War, right at the start of the Civil War. They came in strong that time, but we smashed them in orbit. Back then our fleet was invulnerable. We had double the ships and were faster, more agile and better armed. Those were the days when Alliance ships ruled the space lanes, and there was peace.”

  Xenophon nodded, recognising the battle from his teachings by Kratez.

  “My mentor, Kratez, fought at that battle also. He said it was an example of how careful judgement and a steady hand could change the future,” he explained.

  “That is true. Kratez, did you say?”

  Xenophon turned his head slightly, intrigued that the man seemed interested in his old mentor.

  “Indeed, he is a good friend of mine.”

  “Fascinating. Yes, I knew him. Actually, he was the XO of my ship. As for timing and judgement, he was all hell and high-water back in the day. Well, when you see him again, let him know Critios says hello.”

  Xenophon nodded politely.

  “I will. I must apologise, though, I have to return to the civic centre.”

  The old man nodded in acknowledgement and stepped aside to let him pass.

  “I understand. Watch your back, young Xenophon. I know your heart is in the right place, but most here will see you as one of the anti-democrats. You know what the mob does to enemies of democracy.”

  Xenophon nodded and moved past the old man. He knew full well what the mob would do, and it had little to do with law or democracy.

  If democracy returns, then at the very least I’ll face exile at a public vote.

  He shook his head at the thought of being kicked out of his home. Even so, he knew he had saved many lived already by intervening rather than letting Laconian forces carry out their duties in the city. His local security forces were infinitely preferable to heavy infantry on the streets, at least he hoped they were.

  He moved down the hill and towards the heart of the city, the oldest and most significant single location in the entire Alliance. As he moved closer, he could see the great stone structures of the old buildings, and the Ecclesia itself sticking up proudly. Although hardly ancient by the standard of Earth, it was still generations old and made from the finest marble in the Alliance.

  A loud noise caught his attention. It was a column of three military transports. They moved in quickly from his right and made their way past the checkpoint and into the secure zone. The vehicles were tall and well armoured. Their six bulky wheels lifted them high off the ground and gave a good view of their ‘v’ shaped hulls. He recognised the configuration.

  Laconian heavy infantry.

  Once past, he continued on his walk and moved towards the outer perimeter of the safe area that was lightly guarded by members of the city security forces. At first glance the area seemed quiet, but he knew that the full might of the occupation forces were hidden discreetly from view. The men recognised him and waved him through, barely even stopping to check his face matched the authorised personnel on the site. Still, this was all low security, and it was more for show than actual protection.

  What was all that activity on Laconia all about? Last time there was something like this was back in the early years of the war, and if my memory is correct, the entire planet had erupted into a deadly period of civil war. I’d better get the Ecclesia and fast!

  He moved past a military checkpoint on the main artery road, and it was clear there had been some major changes. He was now past the low security zone, and already the permanent defences and weapon emplacements were becoming more obvious. Two anti-aircraft mounts scanned the sky, and machinegun emplacements covered the main road, protecting this part of the zone from a direct attack. The weapons were all Laconian and looked heavier, more powerful and in their own way, much cruder than the equipment he was used to seeing. He moved further until he reached a series of concrete barriers that blocked access to the old Alliance public buildings. A crude gateway had been erected and was guarded by a group of a dozen security contractors. Xenophon approached them and was quickly spotted.

  “What’s your business?” asked the nearest. He was similar in height and build to Xenophon but wore a grey jumpsuit with flak jacket over the top. A dark visor that was part of his helmet covered the upper part of his head, including his mouth and eyes. In his hands, he carried a Laconian issue pulse rifle, their standard issue weapon, and a device that was capable o
f shredding a man, armour or even a vehicle with a single burst of fire.

  “I have business with the Thirty,” replied Xenophon. He cocked his head slightly and looked back at the man.

  “You’re local, aren’t you? I recognise the voice.”

  The man looked at his comrades then back to Xenophon.

  “Listen, buddy, I ask the questions around here. You got an appointment?”

  “Of course. As I have already said, I have business with the Thirty. You are welcome to check with them if you want?”

  The man looked dejected, almost fearful of the prospect of the Thirty. He nodded to one of his comrades who then brought out a thick case. It was made of what appeared to be dark green plastic but with a roughened surface, much like Kevlar armour. He lifted the lid to reveal a dual display. Xenophon tried not to make a noise at seeing something so antiquated. Nothing like this had been used in the Alliance for hundreds and hundreds of years, and even then it would have been considered obsolete by all but the most basic standards of the day.

  “Name?”

  “Xenophon.”

  “You’re the son of Gryllus?”

  “The same, why?”

  “You can come through, this way,” said the main in an almost apologetic tone. He moved away from the checkpoint and along the path that had been laid out almost five hundred years before when the capital buildings had been rebuilt. The two walked, and it was clear the guard was trying to avoid his gaze.

  What is he worried about?

  They walked past the statue of the fallen warrior, a testament to the sacrifices made in the two victories against the invasions by the Empire nearly a century ago. Xenophon glanced at the stonework. There were markings and scratches along the torso that he hadn’t seen before.

  “What’s happened here?” he asked.

  “Uh, nothing much. A few rioters broken in last month and attacked the civic buildings. We sorted them out.”

  “Sorted them out. As in, you broke some skulls?”

  “Well, if they choose to break the laws of the occupation, then they’ll pay the price.”