by J. L. Doty
Tzecharra couldn’t hide her confusion. “But, Your Grace, Home Fleet has more than two hundred battle-ready ships. Surely they can . . .”
d’Avollo interrupted her. “Captain Tzecharra, please don’t be naive. The average combat experience among the officers of Home Fleet is a few months at most. Home Fleet itself has not been in a serious engagement for more than a century.” d’Avollo’s eyes drifted downward, as if embarrassed by what she was about to say. “Home Fleet is the repository for our children, the children of the wealthy and the privileged. The more fool-hardy among them get some real experience, but no more than a year or two. And then we bring them back here where we can insure their safety.” d’Avollo looked up and met Tzecharra’s eyes. “I’m afraid if Home Fleet must face that armada it’ll be a rout.”
Tzecharra struggled to hide her shock and dismay. “There are some things we in Third Fleet can do, have been doing already.” She shrugged uncomfortably. “A few.”
Soladin demanded, “Such as?”
Tzecharra shook her head and tried to think. “I’ve been using the few ships I have that are battle worthy to strike quickly, then retreat before anything serious starts. We can position those that aren’t battle worthy as if they’re ready to engage. The Kinathins won’t drive suicidally into that; they’ll stop, engage at long range and we’ll withdraw. It’ll buy us a few days. Then maybe we can lay down a gauntlet of mines. It won’t defeat them, but it’ll slow them.”
Schessa smiled at her warmly. “As I said before, very good reasoning. Buy us what time you can, though we don’t expect anything foolish. Seventh Fleet is in transit now, but they’ll be hard pressed to get here before the Kinathins. Buy us time, Captain. Buy us time.”
It was the alert klaxon!
York struggled out of bed, realized it wasn’t the alert klaxon, just the emergency buzzer on his terminal. “Lights,” he grumbled at the computer as he floated across the deck and hit the receive switch. Rame’s face appeared. “What is it?” York demanded.
“Unauthorized transmission,” Rame said. “Lower decks. It’s broadcasting continuously, some sort of scrambled transmission. Not as visible as a transition wake but someone’s damn well going to home in on it. I’ve got the marines sweeping G through K decks now, but I think it’s too late.”
York didn’t have time to react, to think about who or what or why. “Sound General Quarters. Tell Cappik to stand by for full status immediately. I’ll be right up.”
York floated onto the bridge half dressed, and by the time he strapped down at the captain’s console two patrol boats were already changing their orbits to intercept and investigate, and Luna TC was broadcasting a stand-to and be boarded warning. Cinesstar’s stations were still checking in so York sent a call down to the empress. The staid Major Dewar answered. “No time for explanations,” York snapped. “We’ve been double-crossed. Get Her Majesty up here on the double. Tell her to wear something nice, look real calm, and be ready to give her speech. Our only chance is to make a run for it, now.”
He cut the circuit just as the alert klaxon went silent. “All stations standing by, sir,” McGeahn said, an edge of fear giving her voice an overly mechanical sound. “Turret three has a minor malfunction . . .”
York listened with one ear, while he scanned his screens and tried to let part of his mind think ahead. The two patrol boats were moving quickly. They had transition capability, though they couldn’t maintain that long enough for interstellar transit, but soon they’d be on top of Cinesstar, and they’d give the weapons platforms the information that an armed intruder was deep within Luna’s defenses.
“Cappik,” York ordered. “Gravity, shields, drive, now—full status. Mister Eldinow, all ahead full. Force us into transition, soonest. Miss Gant, I want a course for Luna herself.”
Eldinow kicked in the sublight drive. They were quickly approaching one of the big weapons platforms. “Jakobee, arm a one hundred megatonne warhead. Fuse it for detonation one million kilometers in front of us while it’s still in transition. And stand by.”
York felt it before Eldinow said it. “Up-transition, sir.”
York had to fly by instinct. They were in transition now and their data had to be extrapolated from what they’d acquired earlier. On York’s screens the weapons platform was only a few AUs distant. “Hard a’port, Mister Eldinow.”
“Hard a’port, sir.”
York waited a few seconds for the maneuver to change their vector, then ordered, “Down-transition, now.”
“Down-transition, sir.”
A large warhead flared in front of them at a safe distance. “Up-transition, Mister Eldinow. Mister Jakobee, on my commend I want you to launch that warhead and blow it between us and that platform to obscure their targeting data.”
“Up-transition, sir.”
The hull thrummed, and the computer said, Warhead detonation at eighty-three kilometers—yield strength, eight megatonnes.
“Mister Jakobee, fire! Mister Eldinow, hard a’starboard.”
York ignored the acknowledgments they shouted out, saw the empress stagger onto the bridge with a marine helping her. He watched the warhead blow to one side of them, filling the entire transition spectrum with noise. They were now past the weapons platforms. “Mister Jakobee, another warhead behind us and one in front of us. Blow them in transition at a range of twenty AUs. Launch them as soon as they’re ready. Miss Gant, where the hell are we?”
“Warheads away, sir.”
“We’re thirty-eight AUs from Luna, sir, closing at one hundred twenty-seven lights and accelerating. ETA Luna nearspace in two-point-eight minutes.”
“Evasive maneuvering, Mister Eldinow.”
They couldn’t really target at anything, not while they were in transition and too blind to compute accurate solutions. Cinesstar groaned as a big transition pulse slammed through her hull, and York watched damage reports flashing on one of his screens.
“Mister Jakobee, stand by all stations. I need a—”
The gravity on the bridge suddenly shifted, and York’s restraints were the only thing that kept him from sprawling over his console. The power drain to the shields red-lined momentarily and he felt Cinesstar down-transit. The computer droned, Near hit, heavy damage amidships.
“Up-transition, Mister Eldinow. Hard a’starboard.”
“Sorry, sir. Transition drive is not responding.”
There was no time to think and plan. York had to react on instinct. “All stop. Shields down, gravity down. Rig for silent running.”
It was a testimony to his crew’s discipline. A month ago, with every targeting computer in the heart of the empire trying to shove a warhead down their throat, at such an unusual command, someone would have questioned it, and he would have had to waste valuable seconds giving the order a second time. But not now, not this time. Suddenly he floated up in his restraints.
Without a transition drive they were finished, but with all the warheads blowing around them making a horrendous racket in the transition spectrum, it was possible they could just disappear right off the scan reports of Luna’s targeting computers. It wouldn’t work for long—a minute, two, maybe more—but that was precious time they needed.
“Mister Jakobee, have all stations standing by.
“Miss McGeahn, put Her Majesty on every channel you can access, especially civilian and commercial—uncoded, unscrambled. And make sure you broadcast both visual and audio.”
Cassandra was seated at the com console in the apprentice’s couch, completely hidden from York’s view. “Your Majesty,” he said, hoping someone had remembered to give her a headset. “Do you hear me?”
There was a second’s hesitation. “Quite well, Captain.”
“Good. Forget any rehearsed speech. We only have a minute or two before they get enough data to compute a solution on us.”
“Very good, Captain.”
York would have liked to listen to whatever she said. But he and Rame and Gant and Ja
kobee went into a hurried conference on what they could do to defend themselves—not much it appeared, though their defensive stations might buy them a little time.
“Captain.” It was the empress. “I can’t locate His Majesty. No one will let me speak to him directly. They tell me he’s being held in protective custody, something about an assassination attempt.”
“Who’s holding him? Who’s doing this protecting?”
“AI.”
“Keep talking. See if you can get one of those cruiser captains, maybe even an admiral. If they know you’re on board this ship we stand some chance we can buy more time. McGeahn, help her out.”
York scanned his screens. There were no warheads in transition at the moment, but York could count at least thirty ships converging on them.
“Captain.” It was the empress again. “Abraxa wants to speak to you.”
“Did you speak to anyone beside him?”
“Yes. The captain of a destroyer, the commander of a weapons platform, and a number of their subordinate officers.”
“McGeahn,” York said. “How is Abraxa’s signal coming in?”
“It’s on a standard military channel, sir, normal encryption and coding.”
“Connect him to me on a low clearance circuit so you can monitor the conversation. Then rebroadcast both sides of the conversation unscrambled and uncoded on all channels accessible.”
Abraxa’s image appeared on one of York’s screens. He was overweight, well past middle age, with grayish brown hair. But his most outstanding feature was his confidence, the supreme confidence of absolute power.
“Well, Lieutenant,” Abraxa said. “You’ve certainly proven to be difficult. What made you think you could attack Luna herself?”
“Your Grace,” York said with a slight bow of his head. He had to get the empress’ name into this. “I’m not here to attack anyone. I’m here by orders of Her Majesty, the empress, who is one of my passengers. She has ordered me to deliver her safely to His Majesty, the emperor. I am merely trying to do that.”
Someone in an AI uniform suddenly stepped into the view of Abraxa’s pickup, whispered in Abraxa’s ear. Abraxa’s eyes lit up, and York guessed he’d just been told they were retransmitting the conversation uncoded. Abraxa spoke more warily. “The question still remains: why are you attacking the heart of the empire? That’s treason. That’s mutiny.”
York scanned his screens to be sure Abraxa wasn’t trying to distract him while they slipped something nasty in. He also scanned Cinesstar’s damage schematic on one screen: serious damage amidships, minor damage to the transition drive, easily repairable, though not in the short time they had.
“If you look closely at the log of this incident you’ll see that every warhead we launched detonated harmlessly in space as a defensive tactic. And you’ll see that we used no offensive weaponry. We are not here to attack anyone. And as an act of good faith I’m prepared to surrender myself and my ship to you immediately.”
Abraxa grinned. “Really! Then depower your shields.”
York grinned back at him. “I already have, Your Grace.” He didn’t bother to mention he had no choice, that Cinesstar was helpless. And he couldn’t stop thinking of Sarasan.
“Very well, Mister Ballin. Stand by to be boarded.”
York leaned toward his pickup in the equivalent of a bow. “As you command, Your Grace.”
York cut the circuit, ordered gravity up and minimum power, told Rame to be certain not to power the shields, then he made three quick calls. He asked the empress to join him in the captain’s conference room. Then he asked Palevi to round up the d’Hart woman, and the empress’ servant and bring them there also. Last he called Alsa Yan. “Alsa. I need an injector loaded with three doses of something painless, fast and lethal. Bring it to the captain’s conference room.” He cut the circuit before she could argue or ask questions.
York stood. “Commander Rame, you have the bridge.”
The d’Hart woman, the empress, her servant and Palevi were waiting for him. Alsa was only a few seconds behind him. York held out his hand without saying a word, and she reluctantly put the injector in it. She started to say something and he shook his head. “Not now. You’re dismissed.”
She turned angrily and left. York looked at Palevi, and without a word the marine turned and left. When they were alone, by the looks on their faces the three women did not miss the significance of the fact that they, and no one else, were present. York didn’t give them a chance to say anything.
“In a few minutes we’re going to be boarded by AI troops. From what Her Majesty tells me AI is holding the emperor in protective custody, which sounds suspiciously like a coup. They aren’t going to kill us out of hand, or burn us and say I was a renegade, but I wouldn’t count on much more than that.”
He let that sink in. The servant, without asking permission, sat down and sighed deeply, sounding on the edge of tears.
“Now I don’t know what kind of conspiracy you three were hatching, but I do know you . . .” he nodded at the servant, and she looked him squarely in the eyes, “. . . are a feddie. I don’t know if you’re a spy or not—”
“I’m not,” she said. “Not a spy. We—”
He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “It doesn’t matter and you don’t have time to explain. What I do know is that the three of you were up to something, and you each have a suicide device implanted at the base of your skull.”
All three started at that. “I don’t know how they’re triggered, but I had them deactivated long ago. And since I took that option away from you, and now it appears you’ll soon be Abraxa’s captives, I’m prepared to offer you that option back.”
He let that sink in, though it took several seconds. When Cassandra realized what he was saying she too sat down, while the d’Hart woman backed fearfully up to the bulkhead behind her.
York lifted the injector, checked the charge. The display listed three dosages of some chemical with a long name. “There are three dosages of a lethal, but painless drug in here. You don’t have to administer it to yourself—I’ll do that for you, if you wish. They’re going to hang me anyway. But you have to make the decision, each of you, for yourself. All I can do is carry out your wishes.”
That too he let sink in. He let it hang there because there was nothing else to say. They had come to defeat, and not knowing what he had done by having their last option removed, he felt obligated to return it to them.
“Tell me, Captain,” the empress said calmly. “What’ll you do? Will you commit suicide with us?”
York didn’t have to think about that. “No. I still have to worry about my crew. And in any case, that’s not my way.”
“Nor is it mine,” the empress said.
“Nor mine,” the d’Hart woman said with as much conviction.
They all looked at the servant, the feddie. She had buried her face in her hands, and several seconds passed before she looked up and slowly looked each of them in the face. “Nor mine, of course.”
York keyed his implants. “Rame, Ballin here. When’s that boarding party due?”
“Seven minutes, sir.”
“Where?”
“Hangar Deck, bay four.”
“I’m going down. You remain on the bridge. And whatever happens, don’t start anything.”
York tucked the injector under his belt like a gun, looked at the d’Hart woman and the servant. “You two had best return to your cabins.” He turned to the empress. “Would you like to join me, Your Majesty?”
She sighed. “It’s probably best.”
The servant/feddie looked up. “I just want to know who betrayed us.”
The d’Hart woman hissed, stepped back but ran into the bulkhead behind her.
The empress turned on her. “You, Sylissa? No. Tell me it’s not true. Please!”
For one instant York was tempted to pull the injector and give the woman all three doses. But then he saw in her eyes that her betrayal already
haunted her. A lethal but painless poison would be the easy way out for her, and he didn’t want to give her that.
He turned, walked out of the room, leaving the angry voices of the empress and her servant behind.
Hangar Deck, bay four, was the extra service bay used for shuttles not belonging to Cinesstar herself. It was empty now. York stopped in Hangar Control to glance at some screens. A cruiser and three destroyers were already standing a million kilometers off, easy targeting range, and more ships were arriving every minute, slowly englobing them. He made a call to the bridge, told Jakobee to comp-lock the main weapons console and shut down all weapons stations. He told Rame to put them on green status, to put Jakobee in charge and join him. Then he told McGeahn to put him on allship.
“This is your captain,” he said slowly. “You’ve been a good crew, an excellent crew, and I’m proud of you. I could not have asked for better. But now we’ve come home, and our mission is done.
“I’m yielding command of this ship to the proper authorities, and I’m sure they’ll deal with you fairly.” He wasn’t sure he believed that part, but there was nothing else he could say. “You’re all ordered to comp-lock your weapons, and return to your quarters and wait there until you hear otherwise. Ballin out.”
When he looked up Rame and the empress were standing behind him. Rame glanced at his watch. “Less than two minutes, sir.”
York leaned over a console and switched one of its screens to a view of the interior of bay four, another to an exterior view. The deck crew had already opened bay four to space, and only a black void was visible beyond the hatch. Another screen showed a short-range scan of an approaching shuttle. York watched it on the scan until it was close enough to see on exterior view, and he was not surprised to see the AI emblem painted on its side.
“Olin,” York said. “Remember, you were only obeying my orders. Nothing more. And I think it would be best if you returned to your cabin.”
