Starcruiser Polaris: Terrible Swift Sword

by Richard Tongue

   “That's the first I've heard of it,” Petrova replied, looking anxiously at Mike. “They must have kept it really deep and dark.”

   “Won't they be expecting an attack at Hyperborea?” Schmidt asked. “Given that...”

   “I hope so, Lieutenant. That's the entire goal of the operation.” With a smile, he said, “My intention, people, is to force the Federation Fleet into battle at a time and place of our choosing.” All eyes were locked on him as he continued, “Admiral Yoshida is doubtless preparing his forces for an attack. Sooner or later, he'll come here, to Sinaloa Station, with sufficient force to overwhelm our defenses. That's certain. I'm going to move faster, before he is ready.”

   Frowning, Morgan replied, “Surely hit and run raids, to keep them off-balance...”

   “That will delay the inevitable, Major, but it won't win us the war. Let me say this quite clearly. If this war lasts more than a few months, we lose. Already the Federation has managed to add additional ships to their Fleet. They have immeasurably greater shipbuilding capacity than we do. In twelve months, they could have a couple of dozen auxiliary cruisers. In twenty-four, new Starcruisers. We lose. It's as simple as that. We have to break the Fleet, and we have to do it quickly, regardless of the risk. That's why I drew the enemy forces into battle. They won't pass up a chance to take us down.”

   Mike's eyes widened, and he added, “Even if Castro joins us...”

   “Three ships. Eight squadrons, maybe nine or ten. And we'll have surprise on our side, as well as a few other tricks.” Reaching for the desk controls, he brought up a strategic view, and continued, “I've had a lead on some additional forces that we might be able to bring into the battle. Polaris will be departing in an effort to recruit them. In the meanwhile, Canopus will remain here, at Sinaloa, and gather as many rebel forces from the Federation as possible. You'll be in command, Mike. I don't care how you do it, but I need the strongest task force you can muster.”

   Nodding, he replied, “What sort of time-frame are we looking at?”

   “We're launching the attack in seventy-two hours, forty-one minutes from now.” He raised a hand to forestall protest, and said, “The decision is mine, and is made. Our expectations are that we're going to face a force of at least six capital ships, likely under the command of Commodore McGuire. I believe you know the man rather well, Mike.”

   “If he's in command, I can probably take him down with a single squadron,” Mike replied. “We can't get that sort of luck. Yoshida-san will come himself.”

   “All the better. We're going to have the beat the best they've got at some point. Let it be now,” Saxon said. “And with a little luck, they'll be having some trouble on the surface as well. I've got a few friends down there, and they're unleashing all the hell they can. You'd be surprised how many ColSec people are switching sides.”

   “Rats deserting the sinking ship,” Morgan said.

   “Not at all,” she replied. “We know where the Federation's going, and most of us don't like it very much. You don't have a monopoly on morality.”

   “Anyway,” Curtis interrupted. “Mike, you'll attack at Zero Hour. With an approach vector to bring you in by the innermost moon. That should give you a few options for your attack. Polaris and whatever forces we've gathered will come in at Zero Plus Four, coming in towards the North Pole. That should throw off their response, with a little luck, and still allow our forces tactical integration. Mike, as the first on the scene, I'll leave organizing that to you.”

   “What about my forces, Commander?” Morgan asked.

   “With a little luck, they'll be supporting the revolt on Hyperborea when we arrive,” Saxon said. “That's the intention, anyway. You'll remain on Canopus for the moment.”

   Shaking her head, Schmidt replied, “That's a lot of eggs in one basket, Major.”

   “If we had more baskets, we'd use them,” Curtis said. “We don't. Any other comments?”

   “What are our options for retreat?” Petrova asked.

   “None,” Curtis said. Locking eyes with her, he continued, “This is it, people. This is the battle that will win or lose us the war. If we wait any longer, we lose our momentum. A big victory here, at Hyperborea, will send a cascade of revolts across the colonies, and cripple the Federation Fleet. We've got one chance to make this work, and we're going to take it.”

   “Or die trying,” Schmidt said, gloomily.

   “I think that's implied, Lieutenant,” Curtis replied. “We're better than them. Better pilots, better crews, better ships. Now we get to prove it. Dismissed.”

  Chapter 7

   The buggy bounced precariously across the terrain, throwing the passengers around the cabin, the ground radar images projected onto the viewscreen providing their only view of the outside world through the blizzard raging all around them. For a while, Cordova had been concerned that they were being followed, that all of this was some sort of ColSec trap, but it had rapidly become obvious that there was little danger of interception while the weather was this bad. Their progress had slowed to a crawl as Norris inched her way across the landscape to their destination, picking her way through the trees.

   “About half a mile to go,” the driver said, turning to Cordova. “I still think you shouldn't have left Pierce behind. For all you know...”

   “The man was a maggot,” Logan replied. “I'm not going to shed a tear for him, and neither should you. Odds are that he would have turned us in, anyway. He smelled like a traitor. Stank of it. They've got them all through the barracks, just in case we actually manage to try something.” Her smile gleamed, and she replied, “We are trying something, right?”

   “That partly depends on what we find at the Bar and Grill, but we're going to unleash as much hell as we can, yeah.” Turning to the woman sitting in the back seat, Cordova added, “You realize that the odds of coming through this in one piece...”

   “Just as long as I take some of those bastards with me. That's all I'm asking.”

   “Signal up ahead,” Norris said. “Contact approaching.” She frowned, then added, “There's another one, in the distance. I think. Out at extreme range, north-north-west. Comes and goes.” Shaking her head, she continued, “The storm's playing merry hell with the sensor systems. It could easily just be a ghost image. At three miles distance, I don't think it matters much anyway. They'd be lucky to get here in an hour.”

   “If ColSec is monitoring us, we should take the first step. Take the fight to them.”

   Shaking her head, Cordova replied, “If we've seen them, so has whoever we're trying to contact. Security's probably been watching us since the beginning. We're just going to have to move faster and smarter, that's all. Which is nothing new. What about the vehicle up ahead?”

   Squinting at the display, Norris said, “Civilian half-track, no registration, older design, but good and rugged. Probably a hell of a lot faster than we are in this terrain. And they'll be on us in a few minutes. I hope they're friendly.”

   “And if they aren't?” Logan replied. “What difference does it make. We don't have a single weapon between us.” She cracked a smile, and added, “We'll still give them a fight they'll never forget if it comes to it.”

   “Let's hope that it doesn't,” Cordova said. “We need friends out here.” She paused, then reached for the door, saying, “I'm going out to meet them. Alone. If you don't hear from me in the next ten minutes, turn and head into the storm. You'll still have a chance of getting away with the weather to cover you.”

   “Don't you trust us?” Norris asked.

   “I don't trust them,” Cordova said, cracking the hatch. “Close this door behind me, and don't do anything stupid. That's my job.” She slid into the bitter cold, shivering the instant the freezing air hit her, wrapping her too-thin coat around her as she staggered towards the approaching half-track. The snow smothered the landscape, settling quickly on her shoulders, and every step
was an effort as she lurched towards the twin lights of the unknown vehicle.

   Knowing it was futile, she glanced to the north, trying to spot the other truck in the distance. ColSec weren't usually this subtle. Under normal circumstances, she'd have expected them to simply launch an attack, even in this weather. Waiting and watching required far more patience than they generally exhibited, a weakness they'd exploited time and again in the past.

   She walked on through the snow, the half-track coming to a shuddering halt ahead of her, the engine still rumbling away. A door swung open, and she could see a figure waving her onwards, rifle in hand. If this was a trap, it was the strangest one she'd ever known, and by the time she reached the vehicle, she was beyond the point of caring. As long as it was warm, that would suffice.

   “Good morning!” a cheerful voice said, as a hairy hand reached down to pull her into the warm cabin. “You Major Cordova?”

   She climbed gratefully in from the cold, and was greeted by a tall, stocky giant of a man lounging in the driver's seat, a battered baseball cap perched on his balding head, advertising that he was a fan of the Martian Manhunters. He reached down to the side, pulling out a steaming cup of coffee, and passed it to her with a smile.

   “You've got me at a disadvantage,” she replied.

   “Jake Harland. Until a few hours ago, I ran Harland's Bar and Grill. And the local branch of the Democratic Underground. I've heard a lot about you. Nice to finally put a voice to a face. Any more of you in the buggy?”

   “Two others.”

   “I'll drive over and we can pick them up. Thought you might run into ColSec?”

   “I'd be lying if I said it hadn't crossed my mind.”

   Throwing the engine into gear, he replied, “You might have. Got a few of them on the side of the angels. More now than before.” As the half-track started to move towards the buggy, he added, “You'd be surprised what happens when people get a sniff of freedom for the first time. Used to be nice out here, outside the city. Nobody ever bothered us much. Lately it's got worse. A lot worse.” Gesturing at the rear of the cabin, a poorly-concealed rifle rack hanging from the roof, he added, “Meaning that we're going to have to start dealing with it.”

   “How much do you know?” she asked.

   “Probably more than you,” he chuckled. “And that isn't much. All I know is that one of my ColSec contacts told me that you were coming, and that he was going to arrange an opportunity for you to escape. I spotted your buggy on radar a couple of hours ago. You've had good timing, by the way. Those snoops out at long-range won't see anything other than a blur.”

   “You saw them?”

   With a shrug, he said, “Nothing they can do to us. Assuming they aren't on our side. My friend's arranged for fake surveillance in the past a few times.” He paused, then asked, “Is it true that the Fleet's coming?”

   Cordova looked into the snow for a moment, and replied, “I can give you an opinion, an educated guess. I don't know anything more than you do.”

   “I'll take what I can get.”

   Taking a sip of coffee, she said, “I've been placed here as a sleeper agent. Major Saxon wouldn't have done that unless there was some good reason, and this is the first opportunity I've had to get away. I think I'm here to raise enough chaos on the surface that the Fleet has a chance to knock out the orbital defenses and liberate the planet.”

   “I like the way you think, Major,” Harland replied. “I like it a lot.”

   “No guarantees, though. I can't offer any promises. I'm not in a position to deliver. That's just my guess, and I intend to operate on the assumption that it's correct. What do I have to work with down here?”

   “We're talking about mobilizing everyone, putting a little army into the field to smash the grins off the faces of those bastards in the city, right,” he mused. “Say thirty, thirty-five, but most of them won't be as willing to put their necks on the line unless they know they've got a real chance. Hell, I'll take the risk, but not all of them will. You're going to need a way to convince them, something big.” A frown crossed his face, and he said, “No way we can contact your Fleet. Not a chance. So we'll have to do something down here.” Pulling up opposite the buggy, he said, “Go get your friends. I'll remote-link that rattletrap of yours to head off into the wilderness by itself. Give those snoopers out there something to do for a while.”

   She nodded, reluctantly cracking open the door and gesturing for the others to come in. Norris eagerly raced from buggy to half-track, Logan taking longer, suspicious at every shadow, finally climbing into the cabin with an anxious scowl at Harland. Abruptly, the buggy's engine started, the vehicle stuttering into the deep forest to the south, tires kicking snow all around.

   “Ready?” Harland asked.

   “Where are we going?” Logan replied, looking suspiciously at him.

   “I've had an idea, but I don't think you're going to like it,” he said.

   Cordova glanced at Logan, and said, “Get it over with.”

   “We need to do something big. Something that will rally all the rebels on this planet. That, and we've got to get in touch with all of them at once, and we don't have the sort of communications network to make that possible without taking extraordinary levels of risk. We haven't got time to do this the hard way.” He looked at Cordova, and said, “If you're right about an attack, we have to assume that it is imminent. My contact must know more than he's told us, but right now, we don't need to know the details.”

   “Who says?” Logan replied.

   “I do,” Cordova said. “If we get captured, the less we know, the less we can admit. Right now we don't know a damned thing.” Turning to Harland, she asked, “What are you suggesting?”

   “A Carnation,” he replied. “It's the best thing I can think of, and it'll be a hell of a spectacle.”

   “What the hell does a flower have to do with anything?” Norris asked.

   “Back during the second half of the twentieth century,” Cordova replied, “a group of democratic insurgents in a country called Portugal overthrew the dictatorship that had ruled the country for half a century and more. They organized their revolt to begin during a popular event, broadcast all across the national communications networks. In effect, they had the government pull the trigger for them.” Turning to Harland, she added, “Is anything coming up that we can take advantage of? Some sports championship, a concert, something like that?”

   “Actually, I was thinking of modifying the plan a little. We're going to need to put on our own show.” Gesturing into the gloom, he added, “The city and some of the frontier towns are connected by the old monorail. I know a substation, maybe ten miles away, and the local station operator is one of us. He'll sneak us into the next freight train, and they run every few hours, even when the weather is as bad as it is today. That'll get us all the way into the city by nightfall, and we'll be getting close to prime-time. Not like there's much else to do at night, and there's only a single channel, state-run. Everyone will be watching, either at home or in one bar or another.”

   “Wait a minute,” Logan said. “Are you suggesting...”

   “We're going to infiltrate the station, break into the recording, and Major Cordova's going to come back from the dead and give a nice speech to the local population, calling them to revolt. There are enough old hunting weapons out there that we can give ColSec a real fight, especially if the administration has bigger problems up in orbit.” He looked at Cordova, his eyes falling for a moment, and he said, “Though once we do this, we're committed. Not just us, but everyone on the planet. There'll be no way out. Freedom or death. You understand?”

   “That's the choice that all of us are making right now,” she replied. “The Fleet will come. You can bet your life on it.”

   “Funny,” Norris said. “That's exactly what we are doing, Major. Are you sure about this?”

   “No, but we haven
't got time to wait for confirmation,” she replied. “We're going to go ahead, all the way. We don't have a choice.”

   “And if you're wrong,” Norris replied, “A lot of people are going to die, and the resistance on Hyperborea will be wiped out. As well as a lot of political prisoners and indentured workers, as well. You and I both know that there are people out there who would massacre them on general principles, just to be on the safe side.” At Logan's glare, she added, “Don't get me wrong, I'm in favor of this. I just want to be absolutely clear what is at stake.”

   “We all know what is at stake,” Logan said. “And the people enslaved in those labor camps aren't exactly living now. Just existing. They deserve a chance for real freedom, and we're going to find a way to give it to them. No matter what it takes. I'd rather die than live in that hell another day.”

   Nodding, Cordova said, “We're going ahead. She's right. We've got everything to gain. In a few days from now, this planet can be free, all the slaves liberated. I'd say that's worth the risk.” Cracking a smile, she added, “All I've got to do now is work out what the hell I'm going to say.”

  Chapter 8

   Curtis walked the decks of Canopus, so similar in so many ways to his own Polaris, the few differences stark reminders of the period that his ship had spent in essential stasis. Just as he had, in his own way, back on Titan. Two decades in a drugged stupor, waiting until the time was right for him to rise again and retake his ship, his life. He still hated Cordova for what she'd done to him, what she'd cost him.

   And yet, it had worked. The crewmen who paused at his approach, snapping parade-ground salutes, were testament to that, at least. They'd switched sides to follow him in rebellion against the Federation, a rebellion that he believed grew more urgent with each passing day. He knew the odds against victory in the battle they were facing, far greater than anything he would normally have countenanced, but there didn't seem to be a choice. They had to fight, and they had to win. That was all there was to it.