Insurrection s-4

by David Weber

  "This is the only hatch holding pressure, Major?"

  "Yes, sir. We checked out all the others and came up empty"-he seemed unaware of his own grim double entendre-"but there's atmosphere on the other side of this one."

  "How much longer, Major?"

  "We've just about got her sealed in, sir." He gestured at the plastic airlock. "Soon's we get a little pressure in there, we'll crack the hatch. Not that it's going to make any difference to whoever sealed it."

  Han nodded slowly within her helmet. After ten months, no one could possibly survive beyond that hatch.

  "Ready, Major," a sergeant said.

  "All right, Admiral," Bryce looked at Han, "would you like to go in?"

  "Yes, Major. I would."

  "Very good, sir."

  Bryce managed things smoothly, and Han found herself sandwiched between the looming combat zoots of a pair of Marine corporals as one of them fed power to the hatch from her zoot pack. The hatch slid open, and the plastic lock creaked as its over-pressure bled into the cabin. The corporals moved awkwardly to either side to permit Han to enter first, and she pushed off through the hatch.

  It was a tomb.

  The first things she saw in her helmet lamp were the rags and plastiseal packed into a pair of ragged holes; one of the primaries that took out the command deck had passed through this cabin. Someone had kept his wits about him to patch those holes so quickly, and the angle of the punctures might explain why the cabin hadn't been searched-they just about parallelled the passage outside, and the single beam had probably pierced at least a dozen suites. Much of first class must have died practically unknowing, and the raiders had probably assumed this cabin's occupants had done the same.

  Her evaluation of the patches took only seconds; then she saw the bodies, and her lips twisted with rage.

  Children. They were children!

  She counted five of the huddled little shapes, peacefully arranged in the beds as if merely sleeping, and saw the body of a single adult-a young woman-at a desk to one side. A candle stub was glued to the desk with melted wax, and her head was a shattered ruin, wrought by the heavy-caliber needler death-locked in her hand.

  Han looked away and felt her belly knot. There was no nausea-only a cold, deadly hatred for the beings who had wreaked this slaughter of the children she would never bear.

  She mastered herself and bent over the stiff corpse of the unknown woman. There was an old fashioned memo pad magsealed to the desk, and Han eased it gently loose. Then she turned back to the lock.

  "Dump the air, Major," she said, and for the first time she hated herself for sounding serene under pressure. "And transport the bodies to da Silva."

  "Yes, sir." Bryce sounded wooden, and she realized he'd been watching his minute com screen; he'd seen everything his corporals' pickups had seen. "We'll be taking them back to Cimmaron, sir?"

  "No, Major," Han said quietly. "It won't help their loved ones to see this. We'll try to identify them and then bury them in space."

  "Yes, sir."

  "I'm returning to the flagship, Major."

  "Yes, sir. Shall I assign an escort?"

  "No, Major. I'd rather be alone, thank you."

  "Yes, sir."

  Han looked up as Tomanaga entered her cabin. He'd seen the pictures of that cabin and knew his admiral well enough to sense the fury behind her calm demeanor, and he took the indicated chair silently, feeling his way through the storm front of her rage.

  "You wanted me, sir?"

  "Yes," she said calmly. She tapped the memo pad. "I'll want you to drop this off with Irene. It may be useful."

  Tomanaga studied her covertly. Her face was as calm as ever, yet she radiated murderous fury. Only belatedly did he realize what it was. Her dark eyes, usually so tranquil, were deadly.

  "Yes, sir," he said quietly.

  "In the meantime," Han went on carefully. "I'd like to tell you what it is. This, Commander, is a record of what that young woman endured."

  "Is there any ID on the attackers, sir?"

  "There is," she said coldly. "Allow me to summarize. Her name was Ursula Hauser, and she was a second-year student at New Athens-a philosophy major." Despite her hard-held control, Han's mouth twisted before she could smooth it. "A philosophy major," she repeated softly. "According to her notes, her cabin lost integrity almost immediately, but Ms. Hauser was a quick thinker, and she managed to patch the holes.

  "Then, over the intercom, she heard the boarders killing the passengers, Commander Tomanaga." She looked up, her black eyes pits of flame. "They lined them up, sorted out the ones they wanted to keep-the young, pretty women-and slaughtered the rest in number three hold.

  "But Ms. Hauser was determined they wouldn't get all the passengers. She knew a little about small craft, so she decided to try to steal a cutter and escape. She was on her way to the boatbay when she came across five terrified children from third class, running for their lives from one of the raiders. She stabbed him to death . . . with a carving knife from the first class galley." She paused, and Tomanaga felt his pulse in his temples. "She took his weapon, but she knew now that they were between her and the boatbay, and while they might let her live, they would certainly kill the children. So she did the only thing she could and looked for a hiding place.

  "She was certain they knew their primaries had depressurized her whole cabin block, so she took the children back to her cabin, hoping they would be overlooked and she could get them to the boatbay after the raiders left. But then they dumped the air, and there she was: locked into her cabin with five children, no power, no vac suits, no airlock, and no way out."

  Han's voice trailed off and she looked away from Tomanaga's pale face, speaking so softly he could barely hear her.

  "So she did what she had to do, Commander. She fed each of those children a lethal overdose of barbiturates from her cabin medical stores. And when she was quite certain they were all dead, she sat down at the desk, recorded all of their names, finished her memo . . . and shot herself." Han stroked the pad. "She was nineteen, Bob."

  A long silence fell. Robert Tomanaga had never personally hated any enemy in all his years of service, but at that moment he knew exactly what hate was, and he understood the old, hackneyed cliches about "killing rages."

  "But, sir," he sought a professional topic, something to push the sick hatred away, "how did they catch the ship? Argosy Polaris was fast-nothing but a fighter could have overhauled her if she'd had any sort of start. Surely her master didn't allow an unidentified ship into weapons range in the middle of a civil war!"

  "No," Han said coldly. "He allowed a Republican cruiser patrol to close with him."

  "Oh my God. No. . . ." Tomanaga whispered.

  "Precisely. Obviously somewhat modified; they've replaced at least some of the hetlasers with primaries. But that was how he identified them to his passengers when he hove to. I doubt he ever learned his mistake."

  "Sir, what-?"

  "What are we going to do, Commander?" Han laid the pad aside almost reverently, and when she looked up, her eyes were carved from the obsidian heart of hell. "We're going to find them, Commander Tomanaga. We're going to find the vermin who did this, the vermin who used the honor of the Fleet to cover themselves. And when we do, Commander, I only hope they live long enough to know who's killing them!"

  "Admiral! We're picking up something on the emergency distress channel!"

  Han straightened in her command chair. Two weeks had passed with no sign of the pirates, but the possible hiding places had been narrowed methodically. Now there were only a handful of systems it could be, and Siegfried, on the far side of the next warp point, was one of them.

  "Get a bearing, David," she said with the special serenity her staff had learned to expect in moments of stress. "Bob, send the group to quarters."

  "Aye, aye, sir!" Tomanaga snapped, and the high-pitched shrilling of the alert wailed through the massive ship. Han hardly heard it.

  "Got it, sir!
Oh-one-niner level, two-eight-eight vertical. Looks like a standard shuttle transmission."

  "Thank you. Bob, raise Captain Onsbruck. I want one fighter squadron to take a close look; hold the other two back for cover. This could be legitimate or a trap, so tell the pilots to take no chances."

  "Aye, aye, sir."

  "Thank you." She punched buttons, and Schwerin's face appeared on her com screen. "Captain, until I know exactly what we've got, you will halt the flagship and the battlegroup ten light-seconds short of the signal source."

  "Aye, aye, sir."

  "Thank you." She cut the connection and turned back to Tomanaga, and the lean chief of staff shivered at the hunger in her normally tranquil eyes.

  "And now, Commander," she said softly, "we wait."

  ". . . know how important it is," Surgeon Commander Lacey told his admiral firmly, "but these are very sick people, sir! Another two days-" He shrugged. "You'll just have to use the statements they've already made."

  "Very well. Thank you, Doctor."

  Han switched off the intercom and looked around the briefing room at the taut, angry faces. The battlegroup's COs attended via com links to their command decks and looked, if possible, even grimmer than her staff.

  "Lieutenant Jorgensen," she said, "you've been correlating the survivors' statements. What conclusions have you been able to reach?"

  "Everything they've said is consistent, Admiral," Irene Jorgensen twisted a lock of hair around an index finger, "and according to them, the pirate commander is an Arthur Ruyard. Our prewar data base lists him as CO of the Kearsarge, a Frontier Fleet cruiser. Apparently he seized Siegfried by declaring support for the rebellion; once he controlled communications he dropped that pretense, and he's been raiding commerce-ours, the Rim's, even the Orions'-ever since."

  "Oh my God!" Captain Janet MacInnes of the Eisenhower groaned. "Not the bloody Tabbies, too!"

  "I'm afraid so, Captain," Jorgensen said, "but they've said nothing about it. I suspect they've chosen to take their losses and deal with the raiders on their own rather than provoking a possible incident because of the Khan's desire for neutrality."

  "All right," Han brought the discussion quietly back to immediate problems. "What's your best force estimate, Lieutenant?"

  "Sir, they appear to have the heavy cruisers Kearsarge and Thunderer and the light cruisers Leipzig, Agano, and Phaeton. There are also five or six destroyers and a prewar squadron of system defense fighters operating from Siegfried III."

  "But Leipzig and Agano were destroyed in action against a Rim destroyer flotilla!" Alfred Onsbruck objected. "I saw copies of the Omega drones."

  "I don't doubt it," Captain Schwerin said. "Lieutenant-" he turned to the intelligence officer "-I'll bet none of his ships are listed as current members of the Republican Navy, are they?"

  "They aren't, sir. Leipzig and Agano at one time were Republican units; none of the others were ever listed as having come over."

  "There you are," Stravos Kollentai said crisply. "Ruyard started with only his ship, then picked off the others from either the Rim or us-probably pretending to belong to the same side until he got close enough to spring the trap." He paused and rubbed his nose. "What bothers me is his crews. I hate to think he found that many potential pirates in uniform!"

  "He didn't," Jorgensen said. "Two of his first prizes were TFNS Justicar and Hammurabi-convict ships. According to our survivors, that's where the bulk of his personnel come from."

  "I see. And just who are these 'survivors,' Lieutenant?"

  "There are seventeen, sir: seven men and ten women. The men worked in Siegfried's mining operations before the war, as did two of the women. The others were aboard ships Ruyard's men captured. I understand-" Jorgensen's plain face twisted with distaste "-that Ruyard intends to found a dynasty. He's been collecting women to 'entertain' his crews, but the prettiest of them are earmarked for his 'nobility.' "

  A savage, inarticulate sound came from Han's officers.

  "How did they escape?" Kollentai asked after a moment.

  "The 'fleet' was out on a raid and they stole an ore shuttle in for repairs-it had a bad drive, but they preferred to take their chances. They made it through the warp point, but then their drive packed in. They drifted for over a month before activating their beacon."

  "That," Onsbruck said quietly, "took guts."

  "Indeed," Han agreed. "And thanks to them, we know one thing Irene hasn't mentioned yet." She smiled thinly at her subordinates. "This Ruyard doesn't trust any of his prisoners aboard ship for any reason."

  "Now isn't that nice of him," Captain MacInnes said softly.

  "I see your point, Admiral," Onsbruck said, "but even if we can blast them without worrying about civilian casualties, we have to be in range to do it. And we've got a problem there."

  "Agreed." Han nodded with a tight smile. "Commander Kollentai and Commander Tomanaga have given the matter some thought, however. Bob?"

  "Thank you, sir." Tomanaga faced Onsbruck, even though he was addressing them all. "Essentially, our problem is that although either one of our monitors outguns their entire 'fleet' by a factor of five, all of their ships are faster than we are."

  "Exactly, Commander. So how do you propose to make them stand still for us?" Onsbruck could have sounded scornful, but he didn't.

  "Commander Kollentai thought of the answer, sir. Deception mode ECM. We'll come in openly, but what they'll see will be two battlecruisers-da Silva and Eisenhower-and three destroyers-Shokaku, Black Widow, and Termite. Even though the 'battlecruisers' will out-mass anything they have, they won't expect any fighters and their total firepower will be far superior to what they believe we have."

  "And if they send scouts out to check from close range?" Schwerin asked.

  "According to the escapees, this Ruyard sticks with what works. He closes with his entire force before he drops his mask because his victims are less likely to balk if he gets in close, and, if they do, he's got the close-range firepower to deal with them. The chance to add two 'battlecruisers' to his force should suck him right in where we want him."

  "But if it doesn't?" Schwerin pressed.

  "Then we'll just have to do our best, sir. Their fighters can't run; they're restricted to Siegfried III. As for the mobile units, long-range strikes from Shokaku should nail at least both heavies before they can transit out. That's better than nothing, sir."

  "But not enough." Han's voice drew all eyes back to her, and her face was as cold as her voice.

  "We don't talk about it, ladies and gentlemen," she said, "but each of us-even those who only joined up after the mutinies-is here because we believe it is our duty to protect our worlds and our people. That is the only acceptable reason for wearing the uniform we wear, and it is also something which, I hope and believe, we continue to share with the TFN."

  She looked at them. One or two looked a bit embarrassed-especially David Reznick-but no one disagreed.

  "The commanders of these ships have violated that purpose. They are mass murderers and rapists, but they are also outlaws against us. Against this." She touched the collar of her uniform. "Against our honor."

  She paused once more, and her eyes burned.

  "No one-no one!-is entitled to do that. The law sets only one penalty for their actions, just as there is only one penalty which can wipe away the dishonor they have brought to our uniform."

  She looked at her subordinates once more, seeing her own anger in their faces. Only Tomanaga seemed to fully understand the shame she felt, but all of them shared her fury.

  "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the penalty we will enforce upon them," she finished grimly. She leaned back, her face once more calm, her voice once more serene. "It is my intention to enter Siegfried and attack within the next six hours. Carry on, ladies and gentlemen."

  "There, sir," Tomanaga murmured as the enemy light codes crept onto the plot. "Still at extreme range, but they're closing. . . ."

  Han nodded, watching the l
ight dots of the piratical cruisers drift slowly closer, the red bands of hostile ships flashing around them. She picked out both heavies and all three of the lights, accompanied by the white dots of four destroyers.

  "Data base can't identify the heavies, sir," David Reznick reported. "They've been altered and refitted too much-looks like the missile armament must have been downgraded in favor of primaries, wherever they got them. But I've got good IDs on the lights: Phaeton, Agano, and Leipzig. Two of the tincans are Pike and Bengal, but we don't know the others. Range is fifty light-seconds and closing."

  "Thank you, David. Try to raise them, please."

  "Aye, aye, sir."

  There was a brief silence in response to da Silva's hail, then the screen lit with the image of a thin-faced, scholarly looking man who matched the data base pictures of Arthur Ruyard.

  "I am Rear Admiral Li Han, Terran Republican Navy, commanding Battlegroup Nineteen," Han told him. "And you are?"

  "Commodore Dennis Khulman, commanding the Twentieth Cruiser Squadron," the thin-faced man replied after the inevitable transmission lag, and Han's eyes did not even a flicker at the lie.

  "What brings you out here, Commodore?" she asked with just the right trace of curiosity.

  "I was about to ask you that, sir." Ruyard/Khulman smiled. "We're on a standing patrol out of Klatzenberger by way of Tomaline, Admiral. And you?"

  "Out of Novaya Rodina via Jansen, Schulman, and Kariphos," Han lied equally smoothly. "We didn't expect to see Republican units out this way."

  "No, sir. We didn't either," Ruyard/Khulman agreed.

  "Well, I suppose we'd better rendezvous and exchange news, Commodore," Han said, watching the other ships creep closer on her plot.

  "Of course, sir. But you'll pardon me if I keep my shields up until we do?" Ruyard/Khulman allowed himself a deprecating shrug. "Can't be too careful out here, sir."

  "I certainly agree, Commodore," Han smiled, black murder in her heart.

  "Thank you, sir. I make our rendezvous in approximately eighteen minutes at our present speeds. Is that acceptable?"