He shook his head, controlling his anger with a visible effort. “You have to bear in mind that their interests and yours won’t always align. The good news is that they know what the Tokomak will do, when - if - they lose the war. That gives them an incentive to stick with you. The bad news is that you can’t command them and, if you try, that will harden them against you too. They may jump at any point and ... well, you might get the blame for not saving them.”
“Fuck,” Hoshiko said. Her people were an understanding people - Solarians knew it took time for messages to move from star to star, even without an alien blockade - but there were limits. She had political enemies back home, including - ironically - people who wanted to curry favour with her family. It wouldn’t get them anywhere, but ... it wouldn’t matter. “We might as well help them, then. But we’ll have to make it clear that we can’t rush to their aid.”
“Unless you want to throw Plan Wellington out the airlock,” Steve agreed. “And gamble everything on Plan Nimitz.”
Hoshiko shook her head. She’d seen the simulations. Nothing could be taken for granted, of course, but ... the bad guys won more often than they lost. It wasn’t very reassuring. She tried to tell herself that the simulations were based on educated guesswork, but ... she shook her head. It would be grossly irresponsible to bet everything on one throw of the dice. They’d have to go with Plan Wellington.
And if they rise ahead of time, they’ll die, she thought. And the rebels might die before we even know they need help.
Her expression darkened. She’d reviewed the files on the Twins, hoping they’d help her make up her mind. From one point of view, the planned uprising would be almost effortless. From another, the uprising would be crushed before it ever became a major threat. She could see the logic ... both sets of logic. Personally, she suspected the reality would be somewhere in the middle. The planetary administration might be riddled with holes, with all kinds of gaps in their security, but that didn’t mean they could all be exploited at the same time. The KISS principle still applied. There were just too many things that could go wrong.
“Samuel Piece wanted an SF team to accompany him,” she mused. “I’ll ask the marines to recommend a good officer.”
“One who has no problem with aliens,” Steve reminded her. “He’ll have to treat with them as equals.”
Hoshiko snorted. The oldsters really did have problems with aliens, although she wasn’t sure if they stemmed from the Bombardment of Earth or a simple awareness that they were no longer alone in the universe. Humanity’s first encounter with alien life - the first recorded encounter - had been traumatic, but hardly as bad as some others. Her generation didn’t have anything like so many hang-ups. Aliens were people. Different people, to be sure, with values that were very ... well, alien, but people nonetheless. Outside Earth, and some of the more isolated Cantons, outright racism was almost unknown.
“It won’t be a problem,” she assured him.
“I hope not,” Steve said. “We sometimes came across as overbearing assholes and we had the advantage of dealing with fellow humans.”
“No wonder you could never win those pointless wars,” Hoshiko said, sweetly. “Why were you fighting them with one hand tied behind your back anyway?”
Steve gave her a warning look. “Back then, our ... government” - the word was a curse - “was dominated by hereditary idiots, bureaucrats and people who believed that the only way to win wars was through politically-correct PR. They thought things could be perfect and when they weren’t, which was inevitable, they blamed the people on the ground. And the hell of it was that the vast majority of the voters would have understood if their leaders had been open and honest about it. There’s no such thing as perfection and trying to be perfect was worse than useless.”
He smiled. “That’s why I built the Solar Union to ensure that people with power had actual experience and responsibility. That’s what made it work.”
“And we’re outgrowing you,” Hoshiko said.
“It happens.” Steve sat back on the sofa. “Kids grow up, even though parents like to pretend otherwise. And then they either learn from their parents or repeat their mistakes.”
He sighed. “I’d like to go myself,” he said. “And I do have a ship.”
“I can’t let you,” Hoshiko said. “And I think you know it.”
She winced at his expression, steeling herself to resist. She had no doubt her grandfather could accomplish the task - and he had no fear of aliens - but she was all too aware of the dangers of him falling into enemy hands. The Tokomak didn’t know many humans - she had the nasty feeling that she was one of the humans they knew personally - but her grandfather had to be right on top of the list of humans they wanted to kill. There was literally no one else who had brought so much change to the galaxy in less than a century. She smiled, rather humourlessly. His only competitors for the title of ‘most influential person in galactic history’ were Tokomak. It was just something else for them to take personally.
“I understand,” Steve said. “Do I get to accompany the fleet, at least?”
“Yeah.” Hoshiko made a mental note to insist he stayed with her. Someone else might be too impressed by him and allow his reputation to override her common sense. “I’d be honoured to have you.”
Steve stood. “I’ll transfer a handful of my possessions to the ship, then,” he said. “And thank you.”
Hoshiko watched him go, wondering if she’d made a mistake. She didn’t think he’d seek to undermine her command - he’d been very good about keeping his mouth shut when someone else was in the compartment, saving his advice for when they were alone - but she didn’t want him to go into danger. And yet ... he looked so young, no older than herself. It was hard to reconcile her awareness that he was in his second century with his appearance. He looked the sort of person she’d have no qualms about sending into danger.
We’re all going into danger, she thought, as she altered the display. Any of our ships could be hit and destroyed, even this one.
She smiled, coldly, as the holographic fleet appeared in front of her, surrounded by a small galaxy of tactical icons. Her crews had worked like demons over the last week, hastily preparing both formations for deployment. There’d been some confusion over some of her orders, made worse by the simple fact she couldn’t explain the reasoning behind them, but overall ... they were well on their way to meeting the deadline. The aliens crewing their ships - a ragged fleet composed of captured warships and refitted freighters - were less ready, but it wouldn’t matter. She’d planned operations on the assumption she and her crews would be fighting alone.
Her smile grew wider as she worked her way through the reports. A couple of her commanders looked to have played games with the readiness reports - she made a mental note to read them the riot act later - but otherwise, the fleet was about ready to go. The real problem lay in holding the system while the majority of the fleet was heading deeper into enemy space. If the Tokomak realised the system was suddenly undefended, who knew what they’d do? N-Gann wasn’t that important, particularly now she’d rigged the fabricators to blow if there was a chance of them falling back into enemy hands, but a powerful enemy fleet could easily block Force One’s line of retreat if it took control of the gravity point. And they wouldn’t have to take the planet itself to be a major headache. Blocking communications between the two prongs would be more than enough.
And there really are too many things that can go wrong, Hoshiko thought. She understood the illusion of control better than she cared to admit, but it wasn’t one she could allow herself. The enemy could really screw things up if she ordered her officers to wait for orders before counterattacking. And if we lose contact ...
She snorted. The researchers had been promising a viable FTL communicator for decades. Literally. She wouldn’t be surprised to discover that Tokomak researchers had been promising the same for centuries. Whoever cracked FTL communications would have a colossal advantage ov
er everyone else, at least as long as it lasted. But she would have to fight her battles without it ... knowing, all too well, that the enemy’s communication loop was shorter than hers. It was vaguely possible they’d be able to take advantage of the enemy’s lines of communication, but ... she dismissed the thought. That was little more than whistling in the dark. Maybe it would work. Once. She couldn’t rely on it.
We’ll have to improvise, she thought. Thankfully, she was good at improvising combat tactics while under fire. The Tokomak would be hampered by their weaknesses ... although she was grimly aware that they were learning too. Let’s hope we can keep our edge until the war is over.
She opened her log and started to write out a set of formal orders for Admiral Teller. He’d command Force One. There were more aggressive officers, but ... for once, she wanted someone who wouldn’t always have an eye open for a chance to push the offensive. The enemy would need time to realise what was heading in their direction and do something about it. She hoped they’d take the bait. The hell of it, she told herself, was that a rebellion would make the bait almost irresistible. And yet, if the rebellion failed ...
There’s nothing you can do about it, she told herself, firmly. All you can do is stack the deck as much as possible and hope for the best, while preparing for the worst.
Her terminal bleeped. “Admiral, I’ve assigned Captain Douglas to your operation,” General Edward Romford said. “He’s on his way now.”
“Have him report to me when he arrives,” Hoshiko ordered. Captain Douglas would have as much freedom as she could give him, even to the point of allowing him to draw whatever he needed from the fleet’s supplies. She was grimly aware she might be sending him to his death. The thought had never bothered her before, but ... she shook her head. She’d never sent someone into a possible trap, knowing they were practically naked and defenceless. But she couldn’t see any way to avoid it. “I’ll brief him personally.”
“He did good work planetside,” Romford assured her. “And he played a major role in setting up the provisional government.”
“I know.” Hoshiko rather suspected the provisional government wouldn’t last, but ... she wouldn’t mind, as long as it lasted just long enough. “This mission is going to be harder.”
“I’ll make time for him and his squad to meet their romantic partners, then,” Romford joked. “A shame there’s no real shore leave ...”
Hoshiko laughed. N-Gann had quite a few shore leave facilities, but most of them had been destroyed in the fighting. The remainder hadn’t been configured for humans. The Galactics were depressingly boring, by human standards. They didn’t drink, they didn’t eat to excess, they didn’t watch movies or have sex or ... they didn’t even have porn. It reminded her of a joke about a man who lived a healthy - and boring - life. Why would he want to live for so long?
“We’ll just have to make our own entertainment,” she said, dryly. It wasn’t as if they didn’t have a few distractions. Senior officers would turn a blind eye, as long as it didn’t impede operational efficiency. “And we can play when the war is over.”
Chapter Seven
Captain Martin Luther Douglas, Special Forces Recon, started awake as the shuttle moved into teleport range of SUS Defiant. He’d been too keyed up to sleep properly, ever since he’d received orders to hand his duties over to his XO and report to Defiant as soon as humanly possible. In his experience, abrupt orders only came when he was in deep shit, when he was getting a new mission, or both. And he hadn’t done anything that would deserve a bollocking from General Romford himself as far as he knew.
He rubbed his eyes, feeling bone-weary. He didn’t mind action - he thrived on it - but the last week had been boring beyond words. He’d patrolled N-Gann, he’d helped to sort out disputes between different alien races that seemed to believe their independence would never be threatened again .... he’d made a difference, he thought, even though there was no way the provisional government could keep the lid on forever. N-Gann would have to hang together or hang separately and he had no idea which they’d choose. He almost wished he were back on Apsidal. The insurgency had been hell, but at least it hadn’t been boring.
The intercom bleeped. “Teleport in one minute,” it said. The voice was flat, atonal. “Prepare for transport.”
Martin stood, grabbing his knapsack and pulling it on as the countdown headed remorselessly towards zero. He didn’t have much with him, save for his service pistol, ammunition and terminal. Everything else could be found on the ship, if he was going to be posted there. He hoped not, even though Yolanda was on the ship. Shipboard duty was often boring. He’d earned his place in Special Forces Recon. He deserved to be pitting himself against the very best the enemy had to offer.
The shuttle’s interior dissolved into blinding light. Martin resisted the urge to close his eyes, feeling a very primal fear as the light coalesced into a teleport bay. The younger generation of Solarians believed the teleport was normal, that it was safer than flying on a jumbo jet or riding a bus to school, but Martin had never believed it. He knew just how easy it was to jam, or scramble, a teleport signal. There were no shortage of horror stories about what happened when humans were accidentally merged with flies. The fact the stories were impossible had never stopped them from creeping him out.
“Martin!” Yolanda was standing by the control panel, smiling. “It’s good to see you again.”
Martin checked that his body was intact - a twitch he’d never managed to suppress - before stepping off the pad and hurrying towards her. Yolanda looked strange, by groundpounder standards. The part of him that was still firmly rooted on Earth wondered at her appearance, finding it hard to place her. The rest of him, the part that had seen all kinds of humans since leaving Earth behind, found it impossible to care. He wrapped his arms around her, enjoying the kiss. It was more than he’d had for weeks.
“I guess I’m not in trouble, then,” he said, as he pulled back. “You wouldn’t have greeted me otherwise ...”
“I don’t know,” Yolanda said. She drew back, slightly, her lips twisting as if she wasn’t sure of herself. “You might not be in trouble, but in trouble ... if you see what I mean.”
“I don’t know what that means, but it sounds bad.” Martin gave her another kiss, then let go of her. “The Admiral wants to see me personally?”
“I’m afraid so,” Yolanda said. “And she was very close-lipped about what she wanted from you.”
Martin frowned as she led him through the corridors. His orders normally came from General Romford or one of his staffers. It was a severe breach of military etiquette for Admiral Stuart to summon him directly, certainly not without laying the groundwork by having him assigned to her first. It wasn’t quite as bad as issuing orders to the ship’s crew directly, without clearing them with the captain, but it was still pretty bad. And the Admiral had gone and done it. Either General Rumford was fuming now or ... or he’d recommended Martin personally. And that meant ...?
He put the thought out of his mind as they reached the admiral’s hatch. They’d come the long way around, without going through Officer Country or the CIC. He wondered if that was a good sign. There was little point in secrecy, as far as he knew. The system itself might be riddled with spies - they’d uncovered plenty of evidence that the Galactics were still keeping the system under surveillance - but Defiant was a human ship. There was no reason to believe they had a rat onboard.
Which doesn’t mean there isn’t one, he reminded himself. The Galactics could afford to offer entire star systems in bribes, if they thought to do it.
Yolanda glanced at him. “Good luck.”
Martin opened his mouth, then closed it firmly as the hatch slid open. He stepped inside, torn between relief and fear that Yolanda was clearly not invited. Relief, because she wouldn’t have to witness whatever it was; fear, because whatever was happening was clearly very secret. And that meant ... he straightened to attention and saluted as he saw the admiral sitting
behind her desk. She didn’t waste time with power games. She returned the salute, then motioned him to take a chair. Martin sat, gingerly. This was not going to be good.
Admiral Stuart studied him, carefully. Martin studied her back, noting her tinted skin, almond eyes and very dark hair. She reminded him a little of Yolanda, although she was clearly a decade or two older. But then, it was hard to tell. Yolanda had maintained an almost girlish appearance for as long as he’d known her, for as long as she’d had access to nanotech; Admiral Stuart clearly saw advantage in appearing a little more mature. Martin understood, better than he cared to admit. He’d grown up in a world where people took one look at the colour of his skin and crossed the road, rather than meet his eye. The Solar Union had long since outgrown human-on-human racism. There were alien races to hate now.
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