Starcruiser Polaris: Terrible Swift Sword

by Richard Tongue

   “Major…,” Curtis began.

   “Teddy, you did what you had to do, and you didn't have any choice, and you damned well know it,” she said. “I know exactly what is running through your mind. Mareikuna.”

   “Those bastards out there didn't have a chance...”

   “They did what they thought was right, and they died for what they believed in. There are no conscripts in the Federation Fleet, not yet. They all signed up, and they all knew the risks...”

   “Risks?” Curtis snapped. “Don't talk about risks. They didn't take risks, Major. There was no realistic chance that they could survive the attack. None. Zero. As soon as their commanding officer committed to engage Polaris alone, they were dead. And I was their executioner.” Closing his eyes, he said, “I'm sick of this, Liz. Most of them were good people. They thought they were doing their duty to defend the Federation.”

   “Just like you did, at Mareikuna,” she replaced. “There are no easy answers, Teddy, and you know that. You know that you're going to have to do this, again and again, send more crews, more ships to their doom. Kill people wearing the same uniform you did. What other choice do we have? You want to quit? Run to the Halo Stars, out into unexplored space?”

   “Of course not.”

   “Then get a grip, damn it!” she said, reaching across to the wall panel, bringing up a map of explored space. “Look at that. Nine billion-plus human beings scattered across half a hundred systems, all of them counting on you to pull off some sort of a miracle and bring down the Federation. We can't do that while their Fleet is intact, and you're going to have to destroy it, a ship at a time. Or millions die, and billions labor under oppression for the rest of their lives, until freedom is just a forgotten memory.”

   “I know,” he said, with a resigned sigh. “It was just for a moment. Up there on the bridge, watching Ulbrecht die. I thought I was back there again, twenty years ago.” He grimaced, then continued, “Hell, twenty years? Sometimes it feels like yesterday.”

   Nodding, she replied, “That's a side effect of the drugs they fed you. Time can seem to distort in your mind. In a very real sense, those events only took place a year or so ago, as far as you are concerned. You kept sharp, you kept your edge, but you're going to have to live with those memories deep inside. That, or go out of your mind.”

   “Do I get to choose?” he replied, cracking a smile.

   She shrugged in response, then said, “Sorry, I can't permit you that luxury. Not until all of this is over, anyway.” Placing a hand on his shoulder, she added, “If you need to talk, then you know where to find me. I won't pretend to know what you're going through, but I've had some recent experience at throwing away everything I used to know.”

   “I guess you did. I could say the same about everyone.” Tugging his jacket into position, he said, “I'm sorry, I've been...”

   “Hell, if you can't vent at your senior aide, who can you vent to?”

   “Is that what you are today? I've been trying to work it out.”

   “At the moment,” she replied. “Subject to change. Now, game face on. Let's go welcome our pilots home, and meet our latest defectors. A few more battles like these, and we win by default.”

  Chapter 4

   Even with the door to the labor barracks closed, nothing could stop the bitter cold from leeching in. Major Gabrielle Cordova tugged the too-thin blanket over her, shivering as she attempted to sleep, periodically looking up at the old clock on the wall ticking away the seconds before she and the rest of the labor gang would return to work, back to slave on their appointed task for the day under their brutal Federation overseers.

   A month ago, she'd woken from a deeper slumber, deposited by one of Saxon's friends into the makeshift hospital of a labor camp, given a false name, a false identity. It had taken her no time at all to realize that she had been deposited as a sleep agent, placed to prepare the way for a later attack, though the choice of Hyperborea seemed strange, a world that didn't have any obvious strategic value other than the luxury goods harnessed for the bureaucrats back on Earth.

   Most of their work revolved around the processing of such wares, amusing novelties and diversions for the new aristocracy. She'd spent the better part of a week in a slaughterhouse, preparing mammoth steaks for shipment, then transferred to a maintenance detail on the outside of the factories after a run of deliberately sloppy work. Cold, miserable and desperate it might be, but it gave her the best chance she could find to escape from confinement.

   She was in good company. Every laborer dreamed of escape, even if just for an hour, for a moment. Any potential chance to return to Earth, to see their lost loved ones again would be snatched, no matter how desperate the odds, and discussion of the possibility of seeking freedom was ubiquitous. The guards tolerated it, happy to let them have a psychological release, trusting in the cold environment outside to keep them secure. It was a hundred miles to the major settlement, the only starport on the planet. A long walk, even under ideal conditions, and the guards were careful to ensure that they were never issued with the materials they'd need to survive out there, even for a moment.

   Suddenly, a siren sounded, jolting her from her reverie, and a black-uniformed guard stepped into the room, violently pushing the nearest worker out of bed before dumping a mass of thin coats onto the ground.

   “Up and at 'em!” he yelled. “There's a ship down not far from here, and all of you are on the salvage and rescue detail. Special privilege from the Governor; once you've done this, you get to rest for the day. Though there's a blizzard coming in, high winds, set to hit just about when you reach the crash site, so it's a toss-up whether you'll get to live to enjoy it.” He barked with sadistic laughter, and continued, “Form into your normal work groups, and when you're ready, leave the barracks and head towards the column of smoke. You can't miss it. Last group out gets to work in sanitation for the next week, without face-masks.”

   The sadist turned and left the room, leaving the inmates to struggle for the coats. Cordova was quick enough to snatch one that almost fit, noting in disgust that there were barely enough of them to clothe three-quarters of the people in the room. They'd have little enough chance of living through one of the ferocious Hyperborean blizzards in the rudimentary survival gear. Without them, anyone trapped was as good as dead.

   “Thinning out the herd,” a grim-faced technician, Dixie Norris, said, sliding on her coat. She'd been the only one Cordova had recognized, a minor figure from the Caledonian Underground she'd met a few years previously on her solitary visit to that world. Evidently she hadn't made much of an impression; Norris didn't seem to recognize her, or at least had the good sense not to admit it. She looked around for the other two members of her work crew, Jack Pierce and Peri Logan, a field medic and an engineer respectively in civilian life.

   Both had their sad stories to tell. Pierce had made the mistake of showing up his supervisor while working in a construction yard, a man with the connections to take petty revenge on his subordinate. Logan's husband had been the target of a senior bureaucrat, and forged documents had been sufficient to sentence him to a ten-year sentence on Triton Station. She'd been collateral damage, cursed to the hell of the labor camps to fill production shortfalls. Life in the Federation for those without the right last names was nasty, brutish and short.

   Cordova led the way out of the room, stepping into the freezing gloom outside. The guard had been right, the column of smoke a beacon leading them to the target. She trudged through the snow, cold seeping through her, shivering as she labored to their goal, the rest of her group by her side. They'd been one of the first ones out of the barracks, only a cluster of guards swathed in heated suits ahead of them, the faint whirring of a buggy in the distance.

   Leaving the domes of the labor camp quickly behind, Cordova forced herself into a dreary routine, hardly even knowing why they'd been sent out here in the first place. They had no equipm
ent, no training. And as she closed on the molten lake, it was obvious that there was little or nothing there to salvage, the craft that had crashed lost beneath the waves.

   Then she saw him, a familiar figure being roughly taken through the trees, back towards the camp. Squadron Leader Kani. Polaris had been here, minutes before, had fought a battle somewhere in the sky. And they'd lost. Had they won, the guards would be treating the fighter pilot like long-lost royalty, their best chance of good treatment from the victorious rebels. Instead, he was a prisoner, dragged through the snow.

   One of the guards walked over to them, looking with contempt at Cordova as he began, “We need you to search the perimeter of the lake. Command thinks that the rebels might have someone down here on the surface, someone he was trying to contact. Or that there was some sort of equipment cache he was trying to find. Go right around, and if you find anything, I'll see that you get transferred to Ericsson City, spend some time in a nice warm factory complex.”

   “How far is it?” Norris asked.

   “A few miles. The exercise will do you good. Move.”

   Cordova looked at the others, shrugged, and started to walk, her mind seething with fear. If she had been sent here to support an attack, it increasingly looked that she might have missed her chance, that the rebels had been and gone already. Potentially leaving her stranded here for as long as the duration of her doctored sentence. Months, years, maybe decades.

   There had to be another answer. There were rebels on Hyperborea, on every colony world, and the news that Sinaloa Station had been liberated had only fanned the flames. It was just possible that there was someone out there, someone that was trying to contact them.

   “Hey,” the black-uniformed man said. “You aren't out here for a stroll.” He gestured at Cordova, and added, “Pay attention. Look around you, search the landscape. You won't find anything staring at your goddamned boots.” He fumed, gestured at a rocky outcrop in the distance, and added, “You might find anything out there. For all you know, the rebels have planted mines throughout this whole area. The next footstep you take might be your last.” Shaking his head, the guard turned away, spitting on the ground in disgust, while one of his comrades brought across a steaming cup of coffee, the smell drifting towards Cordova on the wind.

   “I'd like to get that bastard,” Norris muttered.

   “Join the queue,” Logan replied. “Damn, I can almost taste that coffee.”

   Shaking his head, Pierce said, “Let's get on with this, shall we? The snow's getting thicker. We won't be able to find our way back to the camp before long.” The gruff engineer moved into the lead, wearily trudging across the landscape, while the four of them swept their surroundings with their eyes. The landscape was littered with tree stumps, the ancient forest being hacked down to provide worthless desk trinkets, but there was still life here, plants struggling to survive in the cold of the Hyperborean winter, waiting for the all-too-brief summer, a glimmer of hope in the far-distant future.

   The snowfall grew, and the horizon became indistinct, the four searchers huddling closer together, not wanting to risk becoming separated in the wilderness. A thin layer of ice had already formed across the surface of the lake, freezing over once again in the bitter, wretched cold. By tomorrow, it would be safe to walk across once again.

   “I can't see a damned thing,” Logan said. “There's nothing out here, and those bastards can't see what we're doing. Maybe...”

   “What?” Pierce replied. “Make a break for it? In these rags, in this weather?”

   Cordova squinted at the rock formation the guard had noted earlier, a brief shining glint coming from something tucked in behind hit. With a quick glance behind her, she pressed on towards the rocks, the rest of the group following, the snow falling harder with every step, chilling her to the bone. Behind the rocks, out of sight of the crash site and the rest of the search parties, was a battered old buggy, door invitingly open, as though waiting for them.

   “It's a trap,” Pierce warned, placing his hand on her shoulder.

   “To hell with that,” Norris replied. “Trap or no, it's got to be warmer than this wilderness.” She stepped into the cab, sliding into the driver's seat and throwing the heating controls to maximum. “Come on in!”

   Cordova followed, Logan and Pierce right behind her, slamming the door closed as the heat rapidly built up, condensation forming on the walls and control panels. She looked over the readouts, checking the power supply and status indicator. The buggy might have seen long service, but it was fully operational, more than ready for an extended trip.

   “Where to?” Norris asked, looking at Cordova.

   “Why are you asking her?” Pierce interjected.

   “Because she's a Major in the Democratic Underground, and I'm assuming this was all planned as her escape route, which means she hopefully has some idea where we're going.”

   Shaking her head, Cordova lied, “They didn't tell me the details in case I was interrogated. There must be something in the cabin, though. Some hint.”

   “Hey, wait a minute,” Pierce said. “I'm no rebel. Hell, I don't like the Federation, but I've only got a few months left on my sentence, and...”

   “You think you'll ever get to go back to Earth?” Logan snapped. “And even if you did, do you really think you'll end up with anything better than a plastiform crate to live in?” Turning to Cordova, she said, “I never joined the resistance. Never even thought about it. But I'd be honored if you'd take me now, Major. They took everything from me, a piece at a time, and I'd like to get a little payback.”

   “They'll kill us,” Pierce said. “If we drive this thing back to the camp, then...”

   “Then we go back to the barracks, and that's all. Assuming one of those trigger-happy bastards doesn't blow us away when we approach,” Logan replied.

   Reaching underneath the control panel, Norris pulled out a folded piece of paper, opened it, and read, “The Harland Bar and Grill.” She frowned, then said, “That's about thirty-five miles south of here. Well out of our way if we're heading for the city. That ring any bells for you, Major?”

   “No, but it's the best lead we've got,” Cordova replied. She looked at Pierce, gestured at the door, and said, “Get out.”

   “What? I'll freeze to death out there.” He gestured at the window, the blizzard raging outside, and said, “It'll take me hours to get back to the base, even if I make it.”

   “Maybe, but that's your choice,” Cordova said. “You can probably earn a few points with he guards by reporting everything you've heard here, though you might as well point out to them that we'll be long gone by the time you have a chance.”

   “I'll stay,” he said. “I don't...”

   “You're either a trustee working for the Federation, or you'll turn on us the first chance you get,” Cordova said, coldly. “At best, you'll freeze up as soon as we get into a firefight. Either way, you're a lot safer out in the storm, and we're a hell of a lot safer with you somewhere else. You can either get out under your own power, or I can throw you out. Your call.”

   “I'll go,” he said, looking daggers at her. “One day we will meet again, Major, and...”

   “Sure,” she replied. “I'll be counting the hours. Go.” He cracked open the door, sending a blast of cold air into the cabin, and walked out into the storm. Cordova looked across at Norris, and said, “Get her moving.”

   “Was that necessary?” Norris asked. “I mean...”

   “Either he takes his chances with the storm or we end up killing him later on ourselves. This way he at least has a chance. Now start her up. My little act of mercy just gave us a deadline.”

  Chapter 5

   Kani sat in his cell, taking sips from the bowl of weak soup set on the table before him. The guards hadn't provided him with any new clothes, and he shivered in his flight suit, the walls imperfectly sealed and permitting traces of the chil
l to seep into the room, evidently a deliberate design flaw. He glanced at his wrist, then frowned. An automatic reflex, but everything had been taken from him in a rough and brutal strip search.

   It had been Cordova he'd seen out in the wilderness, when he was being taken back to the base. He was certain of it. Or would have been, if he hadn't thought her dead, killed in the final stages of the assault on Sinaloa Station. He took another sip of the soup, making a brief game of guessing what might be in it, trying to work out which mix of artificial flavoring had been deployed. Before he could get past the ubiquitous chicken, he heard footsteps outside, and the door rattled open to admit a black-uniformed figure, a gaunt man wearing the uniform of a senior ColSec officer, a weary expression on his face.

   “Squadron Leader Kani?” he said. “It's a pleasure to meet a warrior of your evident skills.”

   “Evidently I wasn't skilful enough,” Kani replied. “Or I wouldn't be down here, enjoying the luxuries of Federation hospitality.”

   The man grimaced, and replied, “I am sorry about that. If it was up to me...”

   Kani chuckled, interjecting, “Is this the part where you talk about being a civilized man, and how everything will work out for the best if I decide to cooperate?”

   Forcing a smile, he said, “I'm glad we understand each other.”

   “I wouldn't go that far.” Kani paused, then said, “Out of curiosity, who am I talking to?”

   The man shrugged, and replied, “It can't hurt to tell you that much. My name is Mikhail Petrov. You can call me Micky. All my friends do. And I legitimately hope that I can count you in that number.” Sitting next to Kani, he continued, “I do have a few things I can offer. We have trading connections with the Commonwealth. Both of us know that, so there's no reason to keep them secret, I think. I'd be willing to offer you safe passage back to Khiva Station.”