Starcruiser Polaris: Terrible Swift Sword

by Richard Tongue

   This wasn't the picked, carefully selected fire that Canopus had displayed earlier. This was a raw demonstration of firepower at its most raw, the full strength of his ship's strength brought savagely to bear on his opponents, commanded by a man he had once called friend. The Commonwealth ships muscled into the fray, their older rail-guns spitting venomous death on Polaris' flank, pushing back the defensive shield a meter at a time, slowly overwhelming the enemy's only line of protection.

   Yoshida's squadron fired back, unleashing their own wave of death on Curtis' formation, but now the fighters they had husbanded came to bear, interceptors swarming in front of the ships to plug in gaps, under the capable command of Kowalski and Voronova, guiding their vessels precisely where they needed to be, cool competence coming into play.

   That was the element the Federation Fleet was missing. Decades of neglect had taken their toll, and the payment was being extracted in bloody kind today. Curtis watched implacably as the ships under his command pressed home their attack, now the bombers swinging in from the flanks, picking the ships at the rear for their strike, fifty missiles fired as one through carefully gouged holes in the defensive fire, exploiting the weak spots that Canopus had sacrificed its life to create.

   The first impact was on Regulus itself, aft, close to one of the fighter launch tubes. The second and third followed in quick succession, a hail of fire slamming into the side of the ship, sending it lurching out of control, a delayed mirror of Canopus, scant minutes ago. As though sensing blood, the bombers altered their attack pattern, swinging around to engage the flagship of the squadron, a hundred impacts in a single second as the defensive grid was fatally disrupted.

   In less than a second, the remaining ships had firmed up their defenses, slid into new positions to guard themselves against the ever-increasing fire from the rebel fleet, but they'd been forced to exclude Regulus as the price of their temporary salvation. The battered Starcruiser took the full impact of the rebel salvo, railguns hammering into the side, Polaris' mass driver cannons punching holes into the armor by the dozen. Escape pods made the futile attempt to seek safety, none of them living through the combined barrage of all seven ships. Finally, Regulus' superstructure could take no more, the ship snapping in twain, her spine broken.

   Three ships left, now leaderless. Curtis pressed on the attack, the remaining defensive fire now unequal to the task being set for it. Their battle complete, the bombers retreated to safety, the interceptors curling back to help staunch gaps as they emerged. For a brief second, one of the enemy ships found a mark, a dozen shots neatly sliding through the particle beam shield to score impacts on Achilles, but Norton moved Polaris into position to cover them, her turrets wiping out a second salvo before it could reach its goal.

   That brief moment was the nearest the Federation cruisers could get to victory. As they moved still closer to the rebel formation, the nerve of the Bellatrix's commander broke, and he pulled away, veering off at maximum acceleration, breaking the defensive pattern and allowing the rebel ships to send salvo after salvo into the two remaining ships. As Bellatrix fled to the safety of the gravitational threshold, a handful of her fighters making desperate attempts to reach her in time, her sister ships buckled and broke under a tidal wave of kinetic warheads, thousands of impacts ripping into their hulls before the tactical officers unleashing them could hold them back.

   Two quick flashes ended the story. Curtis looked up at the strategic display, his eyes wide as he saw the now-clear battlespace. All the Federation ships over than Bellatrix had surrendered, and while the Commonwealth squadron arced around towards them, trying to catch them, one look at the trajectory plot was sufficient to convince him that they'd never be stopped in time.

   Saxon looked down at him, and said, “Let them go.”

   Nodding, he replied, “To report what has happened here. They won't be able to sweep this under the carpet.” Shaking his head, he looked at the images of horror on display, and added, “The cream of the Federation Fleet, gone in an instant. It doesn't seem real.”

   “It is real,” she replied. “You've done this. All of it.” Gesturing at the screen, she replied, “The power of the Federation is broken, Commander. It's in ruins, drifting in Hyperborean Orbit. By morning there will be rebel groups rising all over the galaxy. All over the Federation. Maybe even on Earth itself.” Shaking her head, she said, “I can only imagine what the Central Committee is doing right now.” Turning to him, she added, “Don't you get it, Commander? We've won?”

   Gesturing at the screen, he said, “Not yet, I haven't.” Tapping a control, he said, “This is Commander Edward Curtis, calling any Federation forces that have not yet surrendered. Those able to leave the system are at liberty to do so without molestation. Tell your superiors what happened here today. Tell them that we defeated the finest fleet commander you have, and that we'll be willing to do it again, and again, and again, until we free our people from the slavery you have imposed. All other ships, jettison all weaponry and proceed to Hyperborean orbit until one of our vessels can reach you. Those unable to make it will be rescued at the earliest opportunity. That is all.” He moved to the elevator, and Saxon placed a hand on his arm to restrain him.

   “Where the hell do you think you are going?” she asked.

   “Lieutenant Hudson,” he said, “You have the conn. Continue to coordinate with Commodore McKinnon and Commander Ortiz.”

   “Sir…,” Hudson protested.

   Gesturing at the shattered wreck of Canopus on the viewscreen, he said, “My son is over there on that ship. Possibly injured, possibly dead. I have no intention of sitting here on the bridge while that happens, not when I can do anything about it. I'm taking one of the rescue shuttles over to Canopus myself. And I have no intention of wasting time with an argument.” Cracking a smile, he added, “You could write to the Inspector-General, I suppose, but dereliction of duty will be at the bottom of a very long list of charges, I would think.”

   “Commander,” Hudson said, moving to the elevator. “Given the circumstances, you cannot consider putting yourself in jeopardy. We've just won a victory, but the war is far from over, and you're our fleet commander, an Admiral in all but name, and...”

   “Lieutenant,” Curtis said, “if I am indispensable, then we are in a truly sorry state indeed. If we're to make a democracy work, truly work, then no one man can be in the sort of position that you describe, or we are doomed to fail from the beginning.” He moved past her, and added, “Though rest assured that I have no intention of dying in the near future.”

   “In that case,” Saxon said, pushing through the doors as they closed, “I'm going with you.” The elevator jerked into life, and she added, “I didn't think you'd listen to sense. So I'll just have to go along for the ride.”

   “I don't object to the company,” he replied.

   “One thing,” she said. “You were wrong. Right now, you are the indispensable man, and you're quite right when you realize how dangerous a situation that is. We can't afford to lose you. Not yet. We might beat the Federation, but unless you want chaos and anarchy in its wake, you need to live through the war.”

   “Then my top priority is to make sure that I am no longer indispensable.”

   “My sentiments precisely. Nothing personal.”

  Chapter 26

   Cordova raced through the sewers, pistol in hand, following the sound of the howls up ahead. She strained to recall what little she knew about the saber-toothed tigers that had been recreated here, on Hyperborea, with specific reference to their top speed. If her plan worked, she'd have to move faster than she ever had before. On the ground, she saw new piles of their dung, malodorous evidence of recent activity, and waved carefully around them as she pushed on.

   Then, she saw something. Something in the dark. Amber eyes gleaming, the sound of a tongue being licked against lips, a predator eagerly anticipating its next meal. She took a tentative ste
p forward, and saw the outline of the creature up ahead, shapes moving in the shadows. They'd seen her. And at any instant, they would strike.

   She turned away, fleeing back the way she had come, her feet slipping on the slimy stones as she sprinted towards the power station, hearing the sounds of creatures in pursuit, angry howls as their prey attempted to escape. These beasts were familiar with the taste of human flesh, savored and relished it, and if she had her way, she'd be providing them with a bountiful meal in a few moments. As she turned a corner, her flashlight clipped the wall, the light going out with an anticlimactic click. Now she was in near-total darkness, her imagination filling in the gaps in her perception as she sprinted on, attempting to remember the path.

   One wrong turn would be her last. Her friends were up there, somewhere, ready to take over from her if she could only reach them. Every breath became an agony, every step a new torture, as she struggled to hold her distance from her shadowy pursuers, forcing herself to ever-greater speed. She could almost feel the fangs gripping into her ankle, the claws ripping into her flesh, and her thoughts urged her to increase her pace. Her muscles were on fire as she turned a corner, finally spotting a flashlight up ahead, one of her comrades waving the beam around to beckon her on.

   Now the changeover. She abruptly raced to the left, running down a side passage, as Harland leapt out into the corridor, waving his arms around like a maniac in a bid to attract the attention of the pack before running on, down towards the power station, as Cordova used the last of her strength to sprint to safety. For a terrible heartbeat, she thought that it hadn't worked, that the tigers had opted to continue after her, but finally, they turned away, running towards the fleeing Harland.

   She collapsed to the floor, her energy spent, back sliding down the grimy wall as she panted for breath, no longer caring about anything other than that her brief nightmare was over. For what seemed an endless eternity, she waited in the shadows, struggling to regain her strength, before finally struggling to her feet and walking down the corridor after Harland, pistol in hand. An ear-shattering scream from up ahead froze her in place, and it took a strength she hadn't realized she possessed to push onward.

   No bodies, not yet. That was a good sign. She saw a figure slumped in the corner, and walked over to it to see Harland, looking up with eager eyes. She reached out with a hand, and the rebel eagerly accepted the assistance to rise to his feet, nervously looking down the corridor in the direction of the pack.

   “I handed over to Petrov without a hitch,” he replied. “I think he'd got some emergency rations from somewhere. Pemmican. That seemed to work pretty well. You heard that scream?”

   “Petrov?” she asked.

   “No idea. What to go and find out?”

   “Not especially, but I suppose we don't have a choice,” she replied. Harland nodded, leveled his flashlight along the passage, and slowly walked towards the power station, Cordova anxiously by his side. There was no sign of life, no noise at all. The other rebels had moved to safety before the attack began, would be threading their way back through the passages towards them. Unless something had gone wrong, and the pack had found another direction, perhaps one that would lead to the slaughter of innocents instead of the lackeys of the Governor.

   A figure walked towards them, limping on one leg, and Harland raised his flashlight into the man's face, spotting a weary Petrov, blood-stains on his jacket, raising his hands in surrender.

   “Peace,” he said, his voice weary. “Peace.”

   “What happened?” Harland asked, stepping forward. “What happened, Micky?”

   Looking up at Cordova with horror in his eyes, he said, “It worked, Major. Oh, God, it worked.” His voice empty, dead, he replied, “I took over from Jake, raced towards the barricade. There were two guards on sentry, and they both opened up as I advanced. Then they saw them, but by the time they'd realized what was happening, I'd managed to jump the barricade and roll out of the way. They never had a chance.” He gestured at his clothes, and said, “This isn't mine.”

   “Then they headed into the power station?”

   Nodding, Petrov said, “I guess so. One of them managed to get away. Lead them up the stairs. I figure they're up there right now.” Glaring at Cordova, he added, “This isn't what I signed up for, Major. Liz was right about you. Once this war is over...”

   Stepping forward, her eyes aflame, she replied, “They would have killed tens of thousands of people. Most of them old men, women, children. Don't expect me to shed a single tear for their loss. Not one damned tear.”

   “What about our loss?” Petrov asked. “Is this how we win? We unleash savage beasts to slay and murder? Is that what we are?” Gesturing at the stairs, he added, “That's what they did, Major, and we were quick enough to steal their idea. What other ideas are you planning to steal before this war is over.” Taking a deep breath, he added, “I'll take down someone in a fair fight. I'll stab them in the back if that's what it takes to win, because wars are messy, ugly, savage things, but this is a step too far.”

   “You want to quit?” Cordova said. “I think you've left it a little late...”

   “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “But I'll be watching you, Major.”

   “There's blood on your hands, Petrov. Just as much as there is on mine.” Gesturing at the stairs, she added, “We'd better get out of here. They can't do any damage in the power station, and the Governor should have sealed it off effectively enough that they can't get out of there in a hurry.” Walking forward, she threw the switch to enable the blast doors, sending them slamming shut with a loud report that echoed down the corridor. “Jake, can you...”

   Nodding, he said, “Once the dust settles outside, I'll rustle up a few hunters and go room-by-room. We can probably round them up quickly enough. They're not that smart. Not in our terrain, anyway. In the forest...” Looking up at the defeated Petrov, he said, “Come on, Micky. The others will already be on their way up to the street. They probably need us up there.”

   “What for?” he asked. “Haven't we done enough today?”

   Cordova took the lead, moving over to a ladder on the wall, slowly and wearily dragging herself up. She looked down at Petrov, the rebel staring at the sealed blast doors, his flashlight loose in his fist, as Harland walked over to him, putting his hand on the man's shoulder. After a minute, he looked up at Cordova with barely disguised hatred, following her onto the ladder.

   Her body still ached from the race, and she struggled hand over hand until she reached a grime-smeared hatch, the release mechanism stiff from decades of neglect. With an effort, she tugged the handle around, the lock finally yielding to her exertions. As soon as she cracked the hatch, she heard the sound of cheering on the streets, old songs being sung by the crowds above. Glancing down at Petrov, she dragged herself up, rising in a back alley, a pair of lovers embracing in what they thought was privacy as the crowds swarmed down the street beyond.

   “Hey,” the woman said, “I know you. You're the one who led the revolt?”

   “No,” Cordova replied, shaking her head. “I fought, but this man was the real leader. He's the one you owe your freedom to.” She pointed at Petrov as his weary figure scrambled to the surface, and said, “He's the one who brought down the Governor, organized the rebellion on this planet.”

   Looking up, he said, “I...”

   “Hey!” the man said, running out onto the street. “He's here! Administrator Petrov!”

   A crowd surged into the alley, Cordova nimbly stepping out of the way as they thrust Petrov onto their shoulders, carrying him to receive the adoration of the mass of humanity beyond. Cordova reached into the shaft, helping Harland onto the street, watching as the mob raced away. Harland reached into his pocket, tugged out his communicator, and scrolled through the floods of messages updating on the screen.

   “Lots of traffic from the outlying settlements,” he said. “Loo
ks like they gave up without much of a fight. I guess being outnumbered a hundred to one made them decide not to try anything crazy. The internment camps are secured, as well. Didn't take much.” Shaking his head, he said, “The whole planet was a house of cards.”

   “I suspect having ColSec on our side helped,” Cordova replied. “What about the Fleet? What happened in orbit? If they didn't win the battle up there, then all of this was for nothing.”

   Harland's mouth dropped, and he said, “Brace yourself. We won.”

   “What?”

   “All orbital forces have surrendered. Aside from a handful that seem to be fleeing the system.” He looked up at Cordova, placed his hands on her arms, and started to dance wildly around. “We won! It's really over! Polaris wiped out the enemy squadron, and the fighters mopped up the rest.” Looking frantically around, he said, “We'd better get back to the broadcasting station. They ought to have power now, and we need to tell everyone...what am I thinking. We can do that from here.” He tapped controls on the device in his hand, working to integrate the communicator into the planetary network, while Cordova looked up at the sky, the stars gleaming brightly in the night. Some of them were rebel ships, moving into sentry position over a liberated planet.

   Hours before, she'd promised that the sun would rise on a free Hyperborea. Almost to her surprise, she was able to deliver. The world was free, by the efforts of her own people and those up in orbit. The crowds cheering in the street were enjoying their first true taste of freedom for centuries, a spark that had almost been extinguished by countless years of oppression, released at last.

   “Here you go,” Harland said.

   “Hey...”