by B. V. Larson
I listened to the rhythmic knocking sound again. The beat of the knocking sounds matched the appearance of small objects.
“They’re launching something,” I said, “that much is clear.”
“Missiles?” Rumbold asked.
“No,” Zye said with certainty. “They’re fighters. They’re taking up positions off to one side of the station, massing up into a large formation.”
“Fighters,” I said, putting down my headset. “Apparently, our diplomatic message has failed to impress these people, whoever they are.”
I began to order a logical series of counter steps. Two minutes later Lady Grantholm made another appearance.
“What’s this?” she demanded. “Announcing war on our newly discovered neighbors, Sparhawk?”
“We’re taking defensive precautions. All Defiant’s shields are up, and we’re pumping defensive drones out of the aft tanks.”
“Well, suck them back up into your hold!” she ordered. “I didn’t authorize any such action.”
I glanced at her. “Madam Ambassador,” I said, “I’m within my rights to defend this ship and her crew—not to mention you.”
“You’re provoking them!” she hissed, strutting around the deck and gesturing in frustration. “You’ve convinced them we’ve come to conquer them.”
“You were convinced an hour ago the system was dead. I’m only reacting to their hostile move.”
She made a guttural sound of vexation. “I’m going to have to take over this mission, Sparhawk. It pains me, but—”
“It’s too late for that,” I said, brushing aside the computer scroll she thrust at me again. “We’re in a combat situation. I’m now in charge of all tactical decisions.”
“What? I thought the situation was clear. I’m empowered to take command of this—”
“Yes, under specific circumstances. I think it would aid you to read the document again. Under these conditions, I’m in charge of the expedition.”
“This will go into my report, Sparhawk! Everything will be recorded and revealed at your court martial.”
“Possibly, your scenario will come to pass—if we should be so lucky as to survive that long. In the meantime, I suggest you return to your quarters and strap-in. We’re going to battle stations and our maneuvers are soon going to become harsh.”
Apparently, she had read the entirety of the orders we were both following. She made no further effort to press her claims over tactical authority. She stormed off the deck and vanished into the passages behind me. I was glad to see her go. She was a distraction I couldn’t afford right now.
The klaxons sounded to indicate we were switching into a combat configuration. All over the ship, crewmen rushed to their battle stations. Every spacer soon wore a pressure suit and helmet.
Armored ports rolled open to expose missiles, cannons and dozens of other engines of destruction. Defiant’s weapons were revealed like fangs in the mouth of a predator.
“Shields are fully active, just in case,” Zye said.
“Keep them at half-power until a specific threat is revealed,” I ordered.
She made the adjustments without comment.
In space, combat can be tricky. One major element was a balancing act of power expenditures. There were many ways a commander could lose a fight before it even began. One sure way to hamstring a starship was to panic and turn on every defensive system too early. Shields, drones and the like tended to draw upon the same power sources that offensive weapons did. Turning them on too early was like firing your cannons before you were within effective range—a waste of energy that would cost you later.
On the other hand, if we went into combat thinking we had the situation perfectly mapped out, we might lose due to overconfidence. I’d put the shields up at half power to provide partial protection in case we were hit by surprise. This was, after all, an unknown enemy.
It was nice not to have my command staff second-guess my every decision. They were tense, but they displayed a certain confidence I felt gratified to see. I’d gained their trust.
Now, however, was the time to prove them right.
“The fighters are breaking wide. Three groups now, one starboard, one port and the third coming in low in an arc.”
Tapping at my display, I examined this last group. “Mr. Durris,” I said, “it’s my opinion that the third group intends to flank and possibly come at us from the rear when we engage the other two squadrons. Do you concur?”
“The math supports your theory, sir. We can’t let them hit us in the engines… but if we run with full shielding on every quadrant of the ship at once, we’ll have nothing left for our main batteries.”
I nodded. We were rapidly reaching the point at which there would be no options. We’d have to fire on them.
There was one more possible maneuver, a full retreat—but I felt that would be a mistake. These people weren’t talking. They were hostile, and if their first experience with a ship from Earth was an easy victory, they might be emboldened.
“Open a hailing channel, Yamada. In the clear.”
“Open, sir.”
“Are they listening?
“As far as I can tell they are. They’re not talking, just sucking in every word we transmit like sponges.”
Nodding, I considered my words. I took in a deep breath. “To the indigenous people of this star system, we mean you no harm. However, you’ve seen fit to attack an Earth warship. We must defend ourselves. Pull your fighters back, or I will destroy your station.”
Everyone looked at me in surprise. I ignored the lot of them.
“Tactical, lock in on the primary structure.”
“Not the fighters, sir?” Durris asked.
I glanced at him. “You heard me. Target the facet that opened and released those fighters. Our main batteries will be within range in a few moments, if my reading of the data is correct.”
“That’s right sir,” he said, all business again. “Firing solution computed and locked-in.”
We waited tensely for nearly a minute. The fighter groups were all curving now, approaching us from three sides. Every heavy gun we had was targeting the main structure.
“Sir?” Durris asked.
I didn’t look at him. They’d called my bluff. I wished things had gone differently—then I gave the orders I felt I must.
“Fire bank one. Destroy that launch bay. Try not to rupture the rest of the structure.”
Durris met my eyes. “We’re too far out for such precision. We don’t know how thick their armor is, or whether or not they have shields.”
“Destroy the launch bay.”
With deliberate actions, he turned back to his boards and initiated the firing sequence.
Outside on Defiant’s hull, a blaze of energy flared into life. Millions of kilowatts were released. They leapt across space and several long seconds later touched upon the twirling, jewel-like station ahead of us.
-10-
As it turned out, the station did have shields. We lit them up, made them glow orange, and then punctured them—all within the span of seven seconds.
We watched as the triangular mouth that had spit out so many fighters in our direction melted. It sagged, buckled, and merged with the facets surrounding it. The entire region sank inward somewhat, and the station now looked as if it had been viciously kicked in the side.
“Cease-fire,” I said.
“We haven’t confirmed the complete destruction of the target yet, sir,” Durris said.
“No, but I think they got the message.”
On our long-range tactical displays, the fighters were now shifting course. They veered off in three separate directions.
Rumbold spun around and grinned at me. “That’s Sparhawk-style diplomacy if I ever saw it, Captain!” he laughed, but no one else joined in. That had never phased Rumbold before, and he went on laughing.
“Captain…?” Yamada said suddenly.
Her tone was one of disbelief. I turne
d to look at her expectantly.
“They’ve opened a channel. They’re talking, sir. I can’t believe you did it.”
I nodded as if I’d expected nothing less. In truth, I’d taken a gamble and made it pay off. There was no need to point that out to the crew, however.
“What are they speaking?” I asked.
“Terran standard. They have a slight accent, but any of us should be able to understand them.”
“Pipe it through, please.”
The speakers boomed with a loud, raspy voice.
“Vandals, marauders, fiends! We don’t accept your authority here!”
There was no visual feed as yet. I signaled Yamada to allow me to respond.
“We are none of these things,” I said. “Nor are we here to assert authority over you or your system. Please identify yourselves.”
“We’re the Chosen. The Remaining. The last of our kind.”
My brow furrowed in thought. Their self-description wasn’t as helpful as I’d hoped, but I didn’t want to upset them any further.
“Tell me, Chosen Ones, did your kind come from Earth?”
“A vast time ago, there is evidence that we did. None alive remember such a time. We’ve lived through countless taxers and pirates such as yourselves. We will endure.”
Yamada waved to me, and I muted our outgoing channel. “What is it, Commander?” I asked her.
“Analysis of the voice indicates it’s being produced by a human throat. Maybe they’ve been cut off out here and abused for decades.”
Her suggestion seemed to match the circumstances, and it gave me a direction in which to proceed.
“What is this place?” I asked. “Who am I speaking with?”
“This star system is known to us as Gi. We are also called the Gi. I myself have been appointed the Connatic.”
“I’m not quite sure what a ‘Connatic’ is, sir,” I said. “Can you describe your function?”
“I guide. I temporize. I defend and punish. I am the Connatic.”
“I see. You’re the leader, then, of your people?”
“That’s a very simplistic description, but I will allow this conversation to proceed to other points for purposes of expediency. What is your position, creature?”
“I’m Captain William Sparhawk, of House Sparhawk. I command this battle cruiser, the Defiant.”
“Ah-ha!” said the voice suddenly. “You command a ship of war? Your intentions are now clear. You talk to waste our time, all the while gliding closer to gut our beloved Tranquility Station. You’ll not find the Gi who live here defenseless.”
I rolled my eyes. “We’re not here to destroy you. Getting closer would not aid us if that was our purpose. I would simply stand-off beyond your range and pound your station to slag.”
“Violent words,” he said. “Words of war mixed with words of peace. Arrogance extreme and malice immeasurable.”
These colonists had a very odd way of expressing themselves. It was almost as if they were narrating their thoughts aloud. I was trying to get used to it, but it wasn’t easy.
“Listen, Connatic. If we wanted to destroy you we would be doing it, not talking. I’m here to communicate with you and other splintered colonies like yours. Earth is back. We’re rebuilding our network to our orphaned colonies. We intend to engage in trade and peaceful coexistence with anyone who will allow it.”
There was a moment of silence, and when the Connatic came back on the line, his voice had changed. It now held a calculating note.
“I see. Rebuilding the Empire set asunder so long ago. All becomes clear. It’s like a slice of sky free of gases and dust. You’re here to ask us to yoke ourselves like idiot oxen.”
Unable to help myself, I sighed loudly. “I suggest we stand down our weapons. We will close our gun-ports if you close yours. Withdraw your fighters, and we’ll park ourselves in orbit around your station. Then, I’ll come aboard with a few of my officers to meet you in person.”
“Invasion?” demanded the voice incredulously. “Does it think we’d be so foolish as to allow ourselves to be boarded without firing a shot?”
The conversation went on in this vein for the next twenty minutes. In time, I managed to hammer out a plan of behaviors. They were paranoid in the extreme and would only agree to single steps at a time.
The first thing both sides did was sheathe our bared weapons. Our gun-ports, missile batteries and pellet-blasters were all closed and shunted into the guts of our respective vessels.
By the time we slowed and began to circle the station, the Connatic was in a more forgiving mood. Perhaps he was starting to trust me, just a little.
A full hour after the conversation began, I found myself marching down the central passage to my quarters. There, I donned a dress uniform, my smart-pistol and power saber. I tested the clasp at my neck, and momentarily my cloak blossomed into a personal shield.
A hundred strides later I found myself on the pinnace deck. Defiant’s original design didn’t have such a deck, but we’d altered one of the holds to allow small spacecraft to enter and exit. The ship now functioned more like a traditional Earth warship.
There, at the pinnace door, I met up with an unpleasant surprise. I could see through the hatchway, and there was no mistaking the distinctive form of Ambassador Grantholm.
“Are you flying this thing yourself, William?” she asked.
“No, madam. Zye here will serve as my pilot—”
Zye pressed past me and took her seat. She studiously ignored both of us. I was sure she was aware of our ongoing strife, but it didn’t seem to interest her much.
“Well?” Grantholm called. “Climb aboard, Sparhawk. We don’t have much time to waste. I let you prattle on and on with that Connatic fellow for nearly an hour. Imagine my trepidation and horror at every word. You almost started a war on three separate occasions, are you aware of that?”
“Madam,” I said sternly, “the situation is volatile and may turn hostile again at any moment. No treaty exists between these people and Earth. They might intend to skewer us all the moment we arrive. Accordingly, I must ask that you stay here aboard Defiant until I declare the situation safe for civilians.”
She cocked her head quizzically to one side and regarded me with narrowed eyes. “You’ll not weasel out that way. The situation has progressed. You did an excellent job of gaining their trust after terrifying them. Honestly, I didn’t think you had it in you to intimidate a lesser power like that. I stand happily corrected.”
“Madam, I can’t allow you to endanger yourself—” I began again, but she lifted her hand to stop me.
“Just give it up, Sparhawk. I know you too well. You’re a man of truth and honor. Most importantly, you follow orders.”
She snapped out the computer scroll again. This made me wince. She had a strong point.
“You’ve read this document,” she said. “You know the truth. There’s no room for odd interpretations, especially not for a rules-stickler like you. Now that hostilities have ceased, you must bend to my authority again. I’ll be leading this diplomatic mission, as I’m the diplomat!”
We stared at one another, and both of us knew the truth of it. She had me.
Nodding my head, I reached up and grasped the hatch by the ring that served as a door handle.
“Very well, Ambassador Grantholm. I will await your return.”
So saying, I slammed the hatch closed.
-11-
I managed to take a dozen angry steps across the hangar deck before the pinnace hatch creaked open behind me again.
“Sparhawk?” Grantholm called. “I haven’t dismissed you. Please return and attend me immediately.”
Halting in irritation, it took an effort of will to turn around and face her without shouting profanity.
It was one thing, after all, to accept her authority as a non-military official over what was essentially a military mission. To have her ordering me around like a cabin boy was something quite different.<
br />
All that aside, however, she did have the authority to command any diplomatic effort, which was what we were clearly embarked upon now.
Reluctantly, I returned to the pinnace and gave her a wry grimace.
“You can’t abandon your role in this effort now,” she said. “Is this a fit of pique? If so, it’s quite unprofessional.”
“Madam Ambassador, I’m returning to the command deck. Someone must prepare for any upcoming battle your visit may instigate.”
She made a snorting sound. “Now who’s insulting whom? Look William, let’s cooperate. The people on this station spoke to you before, and you promised you would meet them in person. Why you did so is still beyond me—but that’s done now. The point is they expect Captain Sparhawk to step onto their station.”
“I will command the away-team,” I said. “You must listen to me if things go badly. You can talk to their leaders after I introduce you. Agreed?”
She laughed. “The away-team? You mean yourself and this giantess? Fine. If things go badly, I would assume we’ll all be swiftly killed anyway.”
With ill-grace, I boarded the pinnace and moved forward to sit beside Zye.
The hangar was depressurized, and a blast shield rolled away to reveal a black rectangle of open space.
Off to the lower left the station was visible. Zye lofted the pinnace, and we glided out into the void. The view was magnificent. Up close, the station resembled a multi-faceted silver ornament. As it spun, the fire of the orange star nearby lit up the facets and sent brilliant flashes of color in every direction.
“There, see the damage you did?” Lady Grantholm exclaimed, pointing at a blackened facet that looked like a burnt out triangular hole in the hull.
“I do indeed,” I said. “Recall that if I hadn’t punctured their pretty station, they’d have attacked us with their fighters.”
Her face twisted up in irritation. “Your crewmen are constantly telling me how smart you are. Perhaps in this case you were in the right, but you shouldn’t let things like this go to your head, William. Speaking of the fighters… where are they now?”
