She frowned as she considered her options. One side seemed to be controlled by an orbital battlestation, the other side seemed to be being steered from the ground. Given the somewhat haphazard conflict, she guessed the rebels had hacked the command network rather than taking physical control of the system. The bad guys were probably trying to undo the hacking and take back control, if they weren’t already planning to flee the system. She felt a stab of sympathy, despite herself. The Tokomak on the battlestation were probably too low-ranking to flee. And they were doomed if the rebels won. The only thing they could do was sell their lives dearly.
Time for a gamble, she told herself. And hope for the best.
She opened a channel. “This is Captain Hameeda of the Solar Navy,” she said. It was unlikely they knew her, but if they ran her voice through their processors they’d realise she was human. Or a pretty good fake. “If you stand down now, and surrender your positions when my ships arrive, you will be taken into custody and we will guarantee your safety. If you refuse, we will remove you with all necessary force.”
There was a long pause. She waited, unsure what would happen. The Tokomak might take the lifeline she’d offered them, or they might think it was just a trick. God knew they had reason to fear human tricks. And the rebels wouldn’t be pleased if she denied them their revenge, even if she prevented a mutual slaughter. She felt the seconds ticking away, her neural net drawing up attack plans. If the Tokomak refused to surrender, she’d have to take them out. Quickly. It wouldn’t take them long to realise they could steer most of the orbital facilities into the planet’s atmosphere, smashing the fragile biosphere beyond repair.
And forcing us to decide between saving as many lives as possible or continuing the advance, leaving the poor bastards to die, she thought, grimly. It wouldn’t be humanity’s fault - they wouldn’t be the ones who started a genocide - but the Solar Union would probably get the blame anyway. Look what you made us do.
Her eyes narrowed as tactical sensors swept across her hull, leaving her feeling naked and exposed. Her skin crawled as the sensor lock hardened. She found it hard not to flinch as the enemy battlestation opened fire, launching a full spread of missiles towards her. Their formation was painfully blunt. They might not be hoping for a direct hit, but they clearly thought they could catch her in their blast. She cursed whoever was in charge as she gunned the drive, sprinting towards the missiles with terrifying speed. Her ECM surrounded her like a shroud. They’d have very real problems locking onto her again.
But not enough problems, she thought, as she threw the LinkShip into an evasive pattern that left the missiles eating her dust. They cannot be allowed to bombard the planet.
She spiralled closer to the battlestation, bringing her hammers online. It was a waste - hammers were expensive, particularly the two stripped-down weapons that had been loaded onto her ship - but there was no choice. And yet ... she ducked as the battlestation kept firing, spitting death towards her. Normally, she would have hurled the hammer at the enemy ship from a safe distance. Now, the risk of slamming the planet was too great. She’d be safer tossing antimatter warheads in the same general direction.
Two seconds, she thought, as she prepared herself. Now!
The drive twitched as the hammer dropped away, the missile’s gravity well expanding rapidly. Hameeda felt the entire ship shudder as it struggled to compensate for the sudden change, remembering - again - why hammers were so rare. The Tokomak did have a defence, if they had time to use it. She launched her remaining drones, then yanked the ship away as the enemy locked onto the hammer. There was no point in engaging the missile with conventional weapons - the gravity well dragging the missile towards its target would eat energy blasts and missiles with equal aplomb - but an antimatter warhead might take out the missile itself. The Tokomak had done it before. They might even get lucky if they threw a nuke at it.
Hameeda counted down the seconds as the hammer picked up speed, the enemy defences struggling to stop it before it was too late. Theoretically, the missile could - eventually - reach the speed of light, or as close to it as made no difference. It didn’t matter. The miniature black hole smashed through the battlestation’s shields and tore through the hull. The blast was strong enough to take out the generator, snapping the black hole out of existence, but it was too late. The force of the impact - and the torrent of radiation - was enough to smash the entire station. Hameeda felt a moment of pity, mingled with angry contempt. They could have lived, if they’d had the wit to surrender. They could have gone home ...
She blinked away tears as she swept through the orbitals, watching for other threats. The remaining industrial facilities were already signalling their surrender, now the battlestation was gone. Hameeda chose to believe they’d seen sense, as opposed to realising they were doomed ... even more doomed. She sent them a short message, informing their crews the cruisers would take care of them, then pulled away from the planet. The rebels tried to contact her, but she ignored them. The cruisers - and the marines - would have to deal with them.
And then we’ll have to go on, Hameeda thought. She knew her role in the greater scheme of things. It would begin once the system was secure, once Admiral Stuart handed command to Admiral Teller. Then we’ll see what we see.
***
“Confirm that Hoyden has passed through the gravity point,” Hoshiko ordered, as the fleet closed on its target. “Check twice, to be sure.”
“Aye, Admiral.” Yolanda worked her console. “They jumped through twenty minutes ago.”
Hoshiko nodded. The timing wasn’t perfect. It couldn’t be perfect. There was simply no way to hide the freighter from enemy sensors. If they noticed that Hoyden had appeared from nowhere, if they realised the freighter hadn’t fled any of the inhabited worlds, they might ask a few pointed questions. Her fleet had scattered drones around the system, deliberately trying to confuse the enemy with unbelievable reports, but there was always a risk in any deception operation. If people knew you were lying, even if they didn’t know what you were lying about ...
The easiest way to lie is to tell the truth, she reminded herself, but do it in a way that makes sure you won’t be believed.
She scowled. The Tokomak wouldn’t believe the reports of a million human cruisers advancing on the gravity point. They’d know those ships didn’t exist, if only because they’d be smashing their way to Tokomak Prime if they did. And she had no idea what they’d make of giant cubes, flying saucers and police boxes prowling the system. They’d probably assume their sensors were being spoofed. And they’d be right. She hoped - prayed - that a single freighter, a perfectly normal freighter with an apparently non-human crew, would make it through without being detected.
“Then keep us moving,” she ordered. It wouldn’t have been easy to slow the fleet further, whatever happened. The Tokomak would wonder why she was letting so many freighters escape. She’d been bombarding the system with messages proclaiming the end of Tokomak hegemony, but ... she shook her head. “What news from the planet?”
“The marines have landed and taken the Galactics into custody,” Yolanda said. “The rebels want their heads.”
“Preferably not attached to their bodies,” Hoshiko guessed. Her grandfather had told her stories of countries that no longer existed, their governments swept away by the chaos washing over Earth. The oppressed didn’t just want to be free. They wanted revenge. “Tell the CO to keep his distance. We don’t want to commit any war crimes.”
She sighed, inwardly. It was going to be impossible to prevent the rebels from slaughtering at will. They’d have to use force to protect the Galactics and the rebels would see them as enemies ... she reminded herself that the marines had orders to hustle the Galactics onto the freighters and send them away, as quickly as possible. The Tokomak wouldn’t be happy - the freighters were hardly luxury liners - but at least they’d be alive. And - hopefully - the rebels would calm down. Hoshiko didn’t have time to get into a squabble over who had
the right to kill a few thousand enemy civilians.
We can worry about the combines after the war, she told herself, grimly. Right now, we have other problems.
The gravity point seemed to shimmer in front of her as the fleet settled into blockade positions, keeping a wary distance from the gravity point itself. The Tokomak had never invented the assault pod for themselves, but they’d seen them in action and there was nothing particularly special about the technology. She had no doubt it was only a matter of time before they put them into mass production and started to use them against their inventors.
And the antimatter pods are even cheaper, she mused. It wasn’t as if we cared much about what they actually hit, as long as they hit something.
“Deployment complete,” Yolanda reported. The handful of enemy freighters that hadn’t jumped in time were reversing course and fleeing into FTL, their commanders no doubt cursing the timing that had left them stuck in a suddenly-hostile star system. “The system appears to be secure.”
“In space, at least.” Hoshiko relaxed, slightly. The first stage of the operation was over, but she could still draw back. Soon, they’d be committed. “And now we wait.”
Chapter Eleven
“Well,” Butler said. “We’ll find out soon.”
Martin shot him a sharp look as Hoyden made her slow way towards the gravity point. The sensor display - civilian-grade sensors, pathetic by military standards - was blurring in and out as the computers struggled to cope with the fleet’s ECM. It was a good thing Martin knew what was happening, or otherwise he might have panicked. The sadist who’d turned clips from old movies into sensor spoofs had to be laughing his ass off right now. Giant Borg cubes hacking their way through an entire fleet of fanciful starships were the stuff of nightmares. The Tokomak wouldn’t believe what they saw.
Piece shrugged. “The codes are in order and the AI mask is in place,” he said. “We’re as ready as we’ll ever be.”
“Hah.” Martin wasn’t so sure. “And if we’re wrong?”
“We die,” Piece said, simply.
Martin scowled. He was no stranger to dangerous missions, but it was rare for him and a lone platoon to be completely behind enemy lines. There had always been some support on call, even if it consisted of a lone starship and a handful of weekend warriors. But now ... the moment they transited, they would be on their own. And facing an alerted enemy that might just decide to inspect everything that came through the gravity point. Piece swore blind that his codes were valid - and Marine Intelligence seemed to agree - but Martin wasn’t as confident they were right. The slightest mistake could land them in an entire universe of trouble.
He told himself, firmly, that there was no point in worrying about it. Hoyden couldn’t run, if the enemy grew suspicious. There was no way to escape, if the shit hit the fan. There wasn’t even any way to strike back at their foes before they were vaporised. There was honestly no point in worrying about it ... he forced himself to relax as the gravity point came closer and closer, a steady stream of ships crossing the nexus and vanishing in flashes of light. The planners had had a point, he admitted, when they’d outlined the concept. Hoyden would just be one of hundreds of freighters running for their lives.
Unless they start wondering why the freighters were allowed to run, he thought. They know we could have slammed the door closed almost as soon as we punched our way into the system.
The timer bleeped once, announcing ten seconds to transit. Martin drew in a breath, trying not to think about the odds of interpenetrating with another starship. Normally, the odds of two starships colliding were very low, but that didn’t hold true near a gravity point. One starship could wind up accidentally sharing the same space as another, utterly destroying both ships. There were no ships coming into the system, thankfully, but ... he calmed himself, as best as he could, as the final seconds ticked away. The line of freighters knew the danger of sticking around to be killed. They’d be running from the gravity point as fast as they could.
“Transit in five,” Butler said, coolly. “Four. Three ... two ... one ...”
Space twisted around them. Martin gritted his teeth, feeling as if he’d been punched in the stomach without actually having been punched. For a long chilling moment, it felt as if he’d swallowed rocks or something worse, something far larger than he could hope to fit in his stomach. And then the feeling was gone, as if it had never been. He heard someone vomit behind him and deliberately didn’t look to see who. Transit effects were dangerously unpredictable. He’d heard that even starship helmsmen sometimes covered their consoles with the contents of their stomachs.
“Transit complete,” Butler said. “Passive sensor array coming online ... now.”
“Take us away from the gravity point, then start broadcasting our ID,” Piece ordered. “We don’t want to look like we’re skulking around the system.”
Martin glanced at the operative’s back as he watched the display. Deliberately announcing their presence struck him as the very opposite of stealth, although he had to admit that Piece had a point. The mere act of trying not to be seen was indicative, suggesting that one had a very good reason not to want to be seen. A cloaked - or even masked - ship was up to something. The very act of broadcasting their ID would suggest they had nothing to hide.
And we’re claiming to be Harmonies, he thought. The ancient race could give the Tokomak lessons in arrogance, even though they were very clearly subordinate. They wouldn’t sneak around even if it cost them everything.
He watched the display light up, hundreds of icons flaring red before the processors managed to start cataloguing them. He’d been torn between installing a military-grade passive sensor suite and a civilian one, then reluctantly decided to go with the military equipment. There was no point in hampering themselves. If the Tokomak insisted on searching the ship, they were screwed anyway. And they wouldn’t even know the passive sensors were there unless they did search the ship.
“They haven’t had time to install a real defence,” Piece mused. “That’s a good thing.”
“Really?” Butler snorted. “What do you call a real defence?”
Martin listened to the argument as he studied the display. The gravity point was surrounded by a cluster of mines, a handful of automated weapons platforms and a single monitoring station that was clearly of civilian design. It was hard to be sure, but it looked as if the station wouldn’t stand up to a single nuclear warhead. There weren’t even any mines on the gravity point itself, although that wasn’t a surprise. The mines wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between friendly starships and enemy transits. Martin had studied the tactical manuals. Gravity points simply couldn’t be mined thoroughly unless one knew the only people who were likely to jump through were enemy ships.
His eyes narrowed as he spotted the lone enemy squadron holding position some distance from the gravity point. They were modern ships, by enemy standards, but ... it was hard to be sure, of course, yet there seemed to be an air of fear surrounding them. Martin smiled, coldly. The Tokomak had been masters of the universe for so long that it was hard for them to wrap their heads around the concept that someone could beat them. A single squadron of their ships could trash any foe, if anyone was stupid enough to fight. And if they couldn’t, the remainder of the fleet would make short work of anyone who dared fight back. Now ...
“We’re being pinged,” Butler said. “They want to know who we are.”
“Cheek,” Piece commented. “As if we weren’t telling them.”
He tapped his console, triggering the basic AI overlay. Martin frowned as a holographic Harmony lodged an angry protest, demanding immediate clearance to proceed and threatening everything from formal complaints to legal action if the ship didn’t receive her clearance at once. Piece had claimed that one could be either master or slave to the Galactics - and the key to convincing them to accept you as the master was to act like it - but Martin hadn’t been convinced. If someone had talked to him lik
e that, when he’d been inspecting starships for enemy agents, he’d have made damn sure to draw the inspection protocol out as long as possible. But he supposed it did make a certain kind of sense. There was no one as insecure as someone hanging just below the very top, powerful and yet aware that power could be snatched away at any moment. He’d seen it before, on Earth. The Harmonies would lodge angry protests because the alternative - that they might not have the power to browbeat someone into submission - was unthinkable.
Butler glanced at him. “How long do you think it’ll take?”
The console bleeped. “We have clearance to proceed,” Piece said. “I told you so.”
“No one likes a gloater,” Martin told him, dryly. “Do you think they would have taken longer during peacetime?”
“I doubt it.” Piece shrugged. “Galactic society is rigorously stratified, in ways both subtle and gross. Gross in all senses of the word, I should add. The Harmonies normally have the right to go wherever they like, with neither transit fees nor inspections. It was why we copied their codes.”
“It still sounds a little off,” Butler commented. His hands danced over the console, setting course for the next gravity point. “You’d think they’d know better by now.”
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