Starcruiser Polaris: Terrible Swift Sword

by Richard Tongue

   As he stepped into the vast hangar deck, his transit shuttle waiting for him near the launch tube, his son walked towards him, a distorted mirror of his own past, so similar and yet so different. Both of them had been scarred by their trip through life, and both did everything they could to conceal them, even from themselves. A burst of pride ran through him, once again. His son a full Commander, a year younger than he'd made, and as fine a ship driver as any he had ever met.

   “Commander,” his son said, gesturing at the shuttle. “Your chariot awaits, and traffic control has cleared you all the way to Polaris. I understand Lieutenant Hudson has already completed preparations for your departure. They're good to go as soon as you get back on board.”

   “You trying to get rid of me, son?” he said, with a faint smile. “Your old man cramping your style?”

   Shaking his head, Mike replied, “Hell, no.” He glanced at the shuttle, then said, “We haven't had time to get together since all this began. I...”

   Clapping his hand on his son's shoulder, Curtis said, “I know. We'll have the time, as soon as all of this is over. Once we've smashed them at Hyperborea, we'll have to catch our breath for a while. Hopefully we'll get a chance then.” Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “No concerns, no questions, no fears?”

   “No,” his son replied. “So far we've accomplished everything we've set out to do. I have faith. Faith in your plan, our skills, our people. They're the best of the best, and they've earned victory. All we've got to do is give it to them.” He paused, then said, “Though I'd rather we were going into battle together. How many ships do you think you can bring in?”

   “I don't know, and I can't tell you where I'm going. I made a promise, and I mean to keep it. You'll understand as soon as we arrive.” Looking at the shuttle, he glanced at his watch, then said, “I suppose I'd better start thinking about making tracks, I guess.”

   “Yeah,” Mike replied. “I suppose so.” He cracked a smile, and said, “I'll see you in a little over seventy-two hours, then. Castro signaled, a few minutes ago. They're on their way. That'll help. We might get a few more ships like that coming in.” He looked down at the deck, then said, “Damn it, Dad, I...”

   “Easy, son. Easy. I know how you feel. I feel exactly the same. But we've got a job to do.”

   “I know,” he said. “Just make sure you don't get lost again, you hear? I'm going to need you to pull of one of your miracles if we're going to beat Yoshida. That bastard still owes me money from the last time we played poker, and I want some real muscle with me when I collect.”

   “Still running back to the old man for help, huh?” Curtis replied. “I'll be there, son. Count on it. And with any luck at all, I'll be bringing some friends along for the ride.” He reached around his son, wrapping him in a bear hug, then clapped him on the back and walked towards the shuttle, not trusting himself to look back. He'd only just found his son after twenty years, and now he had to leave it again. On a mission where there was a very real chance that one of them wouldn't make it back. All across the deck, as he stepped into the shuttle, the crew stood to attention.

   “Fleet Commander, departing,” Mike said.

   Curtis turned, snapped a salute, the stepped back onto the shuttle, the door closing shut as the elevator airlock engaged, taking him back to his ship. Back to the only place in the galaxy that felt even close to home. He sat down in the nearest couch, the only passenger on board, and glanced across at the slowly rotation station behind them. They'd be leaving behind sufficient strength to defend Sinaloa Station against a light attack, a single capital ship, but any serious opposition would overwhelm it. A part of him wanted to leave greater strength behind, protect the people who had entrusted their lives to him, but he knew that would be a mistake.

   A glance at the intelligence analysis suggested that the Federation had already made it. Their forces were scattered far and wide, single ships ready to repel attacks. Admittedly, he'd done his best to put them on the defensive with a series of hit and run raids, with the capture of Sinaloa Station itself, but that didn't excuse the mistake. Yoshida was smarter than that, but he wasn't the master of his own destiny, and his political masters had doubtless ordered him to protect their own interests before that of the Federation. Another reason to beat them, another weakness to exploit.

   He looked out of the side window at Polaris, running his eyes over the familiar lines of his ship as he approached, a smile curving on his face. A swarm of fighters flashed past, one of the newly arrived defense squadrons completing training exercises, preparing for a battle they prayed would never come. That so many of his comrades in the Fleet still felt as he did filled him with hope. There were political creatures everywhere, but that was the name of the game. Even so, hundreds, thousands of them had taken the chance to join the right side, to fight for freedom, to follow the spirit of the oaths they all swore. To defend the people of the Federation, from all enemies internal and external.

   And the Federation itself had become the greatest enemy he could imagine, one that would condemn all humanity to eternal slavery unless he could stop them. Already millions of people lived under the control of chemical suppressants, just as he had done on Titan for so long. It was only a matter of time before that was extended to the entire population, an army of drones marching to the beat of the same drum. Orwell's nightmare made real, two centuries later than he had predicted.

   Unless he could stop them. He and the rest of the rebellion, a handful of people who still remembered what freedom was, what it meant. It had all fallen away so quickly, but there was still a chance, a fighting chance to win, and he was going to take it.

   The shuttle drifted into position, close to the bridge, ready to transfer him through the emergency airlock. A light flashed on his watch, seventy-two hours exactly remaining until he was scheduled to return to Hyperborea. One appointment he had no intention of missing, no matter what else might happen. With a loud report, the two airlocks mated, and the pilot turned from his seat, a smile on his face.

   “Docking successful, sir. Complements of Sinaloa Station Shuttle Services.”

   “Thanks for the ride, Spaceman,” Curtis replied, making his way to the hatch.

   “Any time, sir. Good hunting!”

   He walked back onto his ship, the airlock slamming shut behind him as the pilot made his way back to the station. Tugging at his uniform jacket, a smile on his face, he walked down the short corridor to the bridge, the door sliding open at his approach. Hudson had been sitting in the command chair, but was already rising at his approach.

   “I yield the conn, Commander.”

   “I take the conn, Lieutenant,” he replied. The elevator next to him opened, and Flight Lieutenant Voronova stepped out, snapping to attention. “Take the helm, Lieutenant.”

   “Aye, sir,” the fighter pilot replied, moving to replace Norton at Guidance Control. The erstwhile helmsman yielded the console with a frown, but Curtis made to silence her protest with an upraised hand.

   “It's just for the jump to warp,” he said. “This time I need Voronova to handle it.”

   “Course computed,” Voronova reported. “Ready to proceed to the threshold at your discretion, Commander.”

   “By all means, Lieutenant, let's get this show on the road.”

   “Aye, sir,” she replied, bringing Polaris' engines to full power, the hull shuddering as she rapidly built up acceleration, guiding the ship towards the gravitational threshold.

   “Want to tell us where we're going now?” Saxon asked.

   “You don't know either?” Hudson replied. “I assumed...”

   Turning to them, Curtis interrupted, “A wise woman once advised me that the best way to keep a secret was to tell nobody about it until you had no other choice.”

   With a smile, Saxon said, “I suppose I should be happy that you're taking my advice, but I'd still like to have some clue about our final...�
� She paused, looked at Voronova, and said, “You crazy son of a bitch.”

   “Got it, then? I'm surprised it took you that long.”

   “Sorry about that, I haven't been getting much sleep lately.”

   As Polaris gathered speed, Rojek turned from his station, and said, “For the benefit of those who haven't….”

   “Khiva Station,” Saxon said. “We're going to Khiva Station.”

   “The heart of the Commonwealth?” Hudson asked, her eyes wide. “Nobody in the Federation even knows where it is!”

   “And it's going to stay that way,” Voronova said. “Under the conditions of the deal I made with the Commander, I handle all the navigation on this trip. All files deleted.” Turning to Saxon, she added, “If you want to try an intrusion hack, you're more than welcome. I could use the practice.”

   Shaking her head, Saxon replied, “Not necessary. The information I might get isn't worth the time or effort. Either we'll come to terms with the Commonwealth, in which case it'll be public information soon enough, or we won't, in which case we won't leave the system alive. I presume you realize that is a very real possibility, Commander.”

   “One that I think is worth the risk,” he replied, moving to his command chair. “They're sitting on a task force, Major, three ships, dozens of squadrons, bases scattered all over this part of the galaxy. Bringing them into the war at this point would swing the odds in our favor.”

   “And if they decide to intervene in their own interests, we'll be in an excellent position to blunt their advance before they can do serious damage to the Federation,” Saxon replied. “Smart.”

   Looking at the viewscreen, Hudson said, “One ship, going right into the lion's den? And these are the very people that the Federation was established to overthrow! What makes you think that they'll help us now?”

   “That was fifty years ago, Lieutenant,” Voronova replied. “Two generations ago. I've never even seen Earth, and nor have the vast majority of personnel in the Commonwealth Navy. We're anxious for action, and to do something to justify our existence. If the Commonwealth Government won't commit us to the fight, then we might just have to take matters into our own hands.”

   With a sigh, Saxon replied, “Would it be possible for us to finish the first civil war we started this year before we engage upon a second one? I'm good at multitasking, but this is getting out of hand.”

   “It's a little late to worry about that now,” Curtis replied. “We're committed.”

   “Just to get this straight,” Hudson said, “We're jumping into the middle of enemy territory to conduct surprise diplomatic negotiations, and we have to be at Hyperborea to participate in the largest space battle for fifty years in a hair under three days. I can barely begin to contemplate the number of ways this can go disastrously wrong.”

   “Me either,” Curtis said, sitting in the command chair. “We're just going to do everything we can to make sure it goes write. Lieutenant, you may engage space warp at your discretion.”

   “Aye, Commander,” Voronova said. “Threshold attained. Initiating system egress.”

   “Here we go again,” Saxon muttered. “Just what makes you think you can pull this off?”

   Looking at Voronova, Curtis smiled, and said, “Maybe I've got an ace in the hole.”

  Chapter 9

   The half-track stuttered to a stop, coming to rest under the pylons of a towering monorail, shining metal gleaming in the light. The blizzard had mercifully blown itself out, and Cordova looked up at the scattered stars in the sky, a million points of light that seemed to call to her, willing her to join them again. Harland reached under his chair, pulling out a pistol and stuffing it into his pocket, then turned to Cordova and her fellow escapees.

   “That's where we're going,” he replied. Glancing at his watch, he added, “The train should be along in a matter of minutes. We'll have to climb.”

   “They'll have seen us,” Norris said, bluntly. “We had a real chance while visibility was down to nothing, but their orbital network must be monitoring us by now. There can't be that many vehicles running around out there.” Gesturing at the sensor display, she added, “And that contact is back, out at extreme range.”

   “Don't worry,” Harland replied. “I've got a plan. You're going to have to trust me on this one. I know that doesn't come easily, but you'll just have to try.”

   “One false move…,” Logan said.

   A smile cracked his weather-worn face, and he said, “Relax. I've got this.” Gesturing at the pylon, he said, “I called ahead to my friend. As soon as he gets the signal, he'll stop the train, right here. There's a maintenance hatch underneath one of the carriages. We use it for smuggling, and the security guards at the far end have been paid off. They won't inspect it unless they have a real reason to. So nice and quiet, all the way to town.”

   “Got it,” Cordova said.

   “You take point, Major. I'll be right on your tail.”

   She nodded, wrapped her coat around her, and stepped out onto the crisp snow, shivering once more as the force of cold air hit her. The winds had relaxed from their raging height, but still whistled through the pylons, the remnants of the gale blasting through her too-thin garments. She looked at the ladder, welded to the side of the nearest tower, rising a hundred feet into the sky, and stepped onto the lowest rung.

   Carefully, testing her weight at every pace, she began to climb, periodically looking around, expecting to come under attack at any second, to hear the sound of bullets ringing against the metal, snipers attempting to bring her down. Below her, Norris began to follow, Logan a few paces behind, but Harland had returned to the truck, lugging a heavy bag out of the storage compartment. He looked up at her, threw her a wink, and dragged the bag over to the pylon, leaving a heavy trail in the snow.

   Cordova froze for a moment as the pylon began to shake, a low rumble in the distance, and looked to the right to see a shining light running down the track, miles distant for the moment but approaching fast. The train that would take them to their destination, speeding towards them. She glanced down at the base of the pylon, then heard another noise in the distance, the motor of a buggy, slamming through the frost-laden trees. ColSec had found them.

   “What do we do?” Norris asked.

   “Climb,” she replied. “All the way to the top. They won't be able to see us on the tracks.” She looked down at Harland, still working at the base of the pylon, and hissed, “Come on, damn it! We're out of time!”

   “Don't wait for me,” Harland replied. Lacking an alternative, Cordova continued to climb, scaling the side of the pylon with greater speed, her previous care and caution dismissed as an unnecessary luxury. The whole track was shaking now at the approach of the train, and she knew that time was running out, crawling hand over hand up the slippery ladder, knowing that there was only one safe haven in this wilderness, one sanctuary to give them a chance of surviving and accomplishing their mission.

   Finally, she rolled onto the top, beside the long, slender rail that buzzed with energy, radiating the warmth generated to prevent ice and snow from causing a catastrophe. She could see the train approaching now, a silver cylinder flashing through the night, running lights winking on and off, casting strange shadows across the landscape. Norris rolled onto the platform beside her, then looked down at the base of the pylon.

   “What the hell is Harland doing?” she asked.

   “I'm going down there,” Logan said, starting to descend.

   “No,” Cordova replied. “Get back up here. We've...”

   Hate in her eyes, Logan looked up, and said, “He's betraying us. I'm going to stop him. If you're happy to let him sell us out to ColSec, that's your problem. Not mine.” Before Cordova could stop her, she began to slide down the ladder, and Norris shook her head, looking up at the train.

   “Do you think he's sold us out?” she asked.

   “Don'
t ask me why, but no, I don't. Though I do think there's something he's not telling us.” She gestured at the tree line, and said, “Company. Two buggies, maybe eight people. Keep down low. With a little luck, they won't spot us up here.”

   “They'll stop the train,” Norris said, and Cordova's eyes widened.

   “Oh, damn.”

   “What?”

   “That's his plan. He's going to slow them down long enough to give us a chance to get away, and make it look as though they've taken out everyone.” She peered down at Harland, the old rebel digging into the snow, tangled equipment that might to an untrained eye appear to be an explosive charge wrapped around the pylon. He pulled out the barrel of a machine gun, hastily setting it up to cover the approaching ColSec guards, then glanced up at the approaching Logan, rifle in hand.

   A bullet cracked through the air, fired by one of the would-be ambushers, perfectly aimed to catch her in the side. Logan cried out in pain, and her hand slipped from the rung of the ladder, sending her dropping to the ground with an agonizing crack. She looked up, desperation in her eyes as she took her last breath, blood spilled onto the snow. Norris was about to cry out, but Cordova slammed her hand over her mouth, silencing her with a glare.

   “She's dead,” she hissed. “All the tears in the galaxy won't bring her back. You want to join her? Go ahead and jump. But you're not taking me with you. We've got work to do.” Harland had finished setting up the machine gun, firing a series of staccato pulses into the gloom to avenge the dead rebel, screaming a war cry as flame and smoke flew from the barrel of the gun.

   The train slid smoothly towards them, gliding to a stop, and Cordova ducked down to let it pass over them, feeling the crackle of electricity from the live rail to their side. Norris looked down at the gunfight, watching as Harland sacrificed his life to give them a chance to escape, while Cordova looked for the promised hatch, their escape route from the battle.