by J. L. Doty
York put the sit-map on one of his screens. The two AI destroyers in orbit around Luna and the other in orbit around Terr were powering up, coming into the command grid. No doubt they had orders to converge on Prime and take her back. The AI patrol boats were already converging, and more were lifting off Luna and Terr. The navy light destroyer in orbit around Terr was showing no signs of life.
Simorka was looking at the same situation map. “Captain, I can try allocating those AI destroyers and patrol boats as targets for the platforms.”
The platforms wouldn’t knowingly fire on friendly forces. “You’ll have to delete them first from the grid, then reassign them as Kinathin warships and allocate them as hostile targets. Don’t worry about the patrol boats. We’ll handle them. And try deleting us from the command grid entirely.”
Move, move, don’t stop, don’t think, just move.
Cinesstar’s bow was just edging out of the yard into open space. As yet, no one knew she was anything but another friendly ship. “Full shield power,” York ordered. “Eldinow, keep us in close to Prime’s hull. We’re going to be under fire from her stations shortly, and the closer we are the fewer can target on us. Jakobee, target on Prime’s weapons stations, concentrating our main batteries on her primaries. Simorka, cut all power to Prime’s shields.”
It was an incredible sight, a heavy cruiser almost hull-to-hull with the giant station. Fighting at distances of a hundred thousand kilometers was close-in fighting, and here there were no more than a hundred meters separating them. “All stations,” York said, feeling a certain calm wash over him. “Commence firing.”
It was an all too familiar din, the pounding of Cinesstar’s guns as she spit death at her enemy. Without shield power Prime’s weapons stations were fodder. York’s crew disabled the secondaries and defensive pods easily, but as Eldinow eased the ship around the curve of Prime’s hull and the first of her main batteries came into view, Cinesstar’s power plant redlined twice before the big gun turret blossomed into a plume of fire and escaping gas. They continued that way, easing slowly around the curve of Prime’s hull, taking on the big turrets one at a time. Prime’s main batteries were far more powerful than Cinesstar’s, but with no shield power and no coordination from Prime Central, and against the combined might of all of Cinesstar’s guns, the ship took only a little damage.
York was more interested in those AI destroyers. The one in orbit around Terr was dead in space, with enough nearby debris to indicate serious damage, while another was engaging one of the platforms. The third had apparently sustained some damage and was now hiding behind the targeting shadow of Luna.
“All stations, cease fire.”
Jakobee’s command pulled York’s attention away from the sit-map. Prime was still intact, but her outer hull was a ruin of shell craters and escaping gasses, and she had no functional weapons station. For an instant York was tempted to redock, pull Simorka and her team out, then run for it and leave the empire to its own fucked up mess.
Move, move, don’t stop, don’t think, just move.
“Mister Eldinow. Set course for Luna, maximum sublight drive. Execute.”
Cinesstar’s hull groaned as Eldinow firewalled her sublight drive. They were about four hundred thousand kilometers from Luna. At ten thousand gravities it would take them one hundred forty-eight seconds, almost a minute and a half, to reach the halfway point. They’d cut drive, flip her over and begin decelerating just as hard.
“Mister Jakobee, target the naval base at Mare Crisia. All stations, full saturation barrage.”
“Targeted and standing by, sir.”
“Commence firing at turnover.”
York turned to the computer. “Computer. Confirm access.”
Access ring-zero confirmed.
“One hundred seconds to turnover,” Gant said.
“Computer,” York continued. “Access patch—Cinesstar main-zero to Mare Crisia main-zero. Execute.”
“Ninety seconds to turnover,” Gant said while York waited for a response from the computer. “Eighty seconds . . . seventy seconds . . . sixty seconds . . .”
The computer said, Confirm access level.
“. . . fifty seconds . . .”
He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Access ring-zero.”
“. . . forty seconds . . .”
Confirm access code.
“. . . thirty seconds . . .”
“Access Three Charlie Two Niner One Niner Alpha.”
“. . . twenty seconds . . .”
Access patch—Cinesstar main-zero to Mare Crisia main-zero complete. Access ring-zero.
“. . . ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . seven . . . six . . . five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . .”
Eldinow cut the drive and simultaneously flipped Cinesstar over. As he firewalled the drive again Jakobee gave the order to commence firing.
It was an impressive display. Every weapon on Cinesstar was throwing ordinance at Mare Crisia, a rain of fire and death that streamed down toward the surface of Luna as if the heavens had opened up with the fires of hell. But Mare Crisia was the largest navy base in the empire, and her defensive capabilities were massive. They intercepted most of the heavy ordinance long before it touched the surface, had recovered from the initial onslaught and were firing back.
Cinesstar’s defensive pods now turned their efforts to intercepting the incoming ordinance, and York watched the power drain to the hull-shielding flare and jump.
“Mister Jakobee. Arm 20 one-megatonne warheads for contact detonation, and launch at two second intervals.”
Cinesstar’s launch crews started slamming warheads into transition, while damage reports appeared on York’s screens. They were thirty seconds out from the surface of Luna when they took serious damage aft and lost some sublight drive capability. Eldinow could only get seven thousand gravities out of her. “Veer north of the terminator, Mister Eldinow, we’ll have to overshoot.
“Mister Jakobee. Arm a one gigatonne warhead for detonation at an altitude of one hundred kilometers over Mare Crisia, and stand by for launch.”
“Armed and standing by, sir.”
Jakobee had just launched the twelfth one megatonne warhead, and like the others it was intercepted and detonated in space about a thousand kilometers above Mare Crisia. The resulting transition noise was phenomenal, and targeting on both sides was becoming difficult.
“Computer,” York said. “Access Mare Crisia comp-operations, shield power, targeting control and ordinance control.”
Warning! Access at ring-zero to such sensitive operations is extremely dangerous. Please confirm access request.
“Computer,” York said. “Confirming access request to Mare Crisia comp-operations, shield power, targeting control and ordinance control.”
Access confirmed.
A shell from one of Mare Crisia’s primaries slammed into Cinesstar’s bow; damage warnings flashed across York’s screens. Jakobee had just launched the nineteenth one megatonne warhead. “Computer,” York said. “Execute to Mare Crisia comp-operations, shield power, targeting control and ordinance control the following command . . .”
York hesitated as Jakobee launched the twentieth one megatonne warhead, and like the others Mare Crisia’s defenses intercepted it in space. “. . . Abort, abort, abort, terminate and deactivate . . .”
There was a delay of about one second, as if even the computer feared carrying out that order, and then Mare Crisia’s shield power went down. Her weapons stations started firing wildly in all directions and the pressure was off Cinesstar. “Mister Jakobee. Launch that big warhead.”
“Missile away, sir.”
“Kill the saturation barrage and switch to surgical bombardment—take out their primaries.”
They were only ten seconds off the surface of Luna when the horizon blossomed with a new sun, a one-gigatonne ball of expanding thermonuclear fire. The power to Cinesstar’s hull-shielding flared, and her sensors were momentarily blanked
to protect them, but the transient York had thrown into Mare Crisia’s operations would prevent her from protecting her own sensors that way. She would now be blind for several minutes, perhaps hours.
Because of the damage to Cinesstar’s drive her ability to decelerate was badly limited and they overshot Luna, swung around the backside in a long elliptical arc. The damaged AI destroyer hiding on the far side just turned and ran so York ignored her.
They came back in low and slow, hugging the horizon line at an altitude of ten thousand meters and watching carefully for any weapons stations still active. There were a few north of Mare Crisia, but without shield power or coordination from Mare Crisia Central they were able to take them on one at a time.
Twenty minutes later York parked Cinesstar in a forced synchronous orbit ten thousand kilometers above Mare Crisia. “Miss McGeahn, broadcast our recognition code, identify us, and put me in contact with whoever’s in charge down there.
“And tell Palevi to put together an extraction team. We’re going to be bringing some VIPs up here.”
“Well, Ballin,” Abraxa said, seemingly unperturbed by events. “Again you’ve proven yourself quite resourceful.”
York had had to bully his way past a commodore and two rear-admirals to get to Abraxa; they tried to deny he was present. “I know the entire Admiralty Council is down there with you, along with Directors Theara and Add’kas’adanna, the royal family and the leaders of the imperial senate.” They were holed up in shelters deep beneath the Mare Crisia base.
Abraxa smiled. “We do have a rather impressive list of guests down here.”
“Guests? Or prisoners?”
“What do you want, Ballin?”
“I want all of you up here, on this ship, under my thumb.”
Abraxa shook his head as if patiently instructing a naive child. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not even at stalemate. You can’t dig us out, not quickly, so all we have to do is wait for reinforcements from Home Fleet to arrive and overwhelm you. It may take them several hours, but we can wait.” Abraxa finished with a big, cheesy grin.
“You’re right in that I can’t dig you out, but I don’t have to.”
Palevi had taken a small squad of heavily armed marines in Two down to the surface. With ring-zero access patched through into Mare Crisia main, York could clear the locks on any hatch or door, or lock any hatch or door so completely no one could open it. With schematics of the base to guide them, overlaid with full details of the deployment of the base’s marines, York opened a path for Palevi’s squad to the security bunkers buried beneath the base. At the same time he imprisoned most serious resistance behind a locked hatch or blast-proof shield, so Palevi’s squad encountered little opposition.
York switched to the marine command frequency, though he let Abraxa hear his side of the conversation. “Sergeant, what’s your status?”
“We’re inside all blast-proof shielding, sir, down on the bunker level, two more hatches to go, and waiting for your command.”
“Very good, Sergeant. Execute.”
Abraxa’s big, cheesy grin disappeared at the sound of a gunshot. His eyes widened and he looked to one side. Several more shots sounded as York cut the link.
Abraxa and the other members of the Admiralty Council had brought about thirty AI to control their royal and senatorial prisoners. But the AI were not armored, and only armed with sidearms and a few rifles, no match for Palevi and his marines in powered combat armor.
The fingers of York’s left hand were going numb: his cybarm. “Get Kalee up here.”
Palevi commandeered a couple of gunboats from the hangar where they’d parked Two, and used the three boats to ferry their captives up to Cinesstar. York told him to be sure Theara, Cassandra and Add’kas’adanna were among the first aboard. “Put Theara and Cassandra in my office,” he told Palevi, “then take Add’kas’adanna down to your office and brief her fully on the situation with Home Fleet and the Kinathin armada. And give Abraxa enough com access to warn everyone off this ship. Now that he’s aboard her, I don’t think he’ll want anyone shootin’ at us.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
When York joined Theara and Cassandra in his office, both women looked at him suspiciously. “Director Theara,” he said formally. “Your Majesty, I’m told you have negotiated a cease-fire agreement and a peace treaty that’s acceptable to the two of you. Is it acceptable to anyone else?”
Theara was hesitant, but Cassandra spoke boldly. “Director General Kaffair, the emperor, a few selected members of the senate and a few selected members of the Directorate General Council. We were going to sign it, try and use that as leverage to get more signatures.”
“What about Add’kas’adanna?”
Theara shook her head. “She’ll go with Ninda. She always does.”
York wasn’t so sure about that. “Where’s this treaty?”
Theara spoke now. “I have a neural implant.”
York turned to his terminal and reset it for limited access. “Can you download it now to my terminal?”
“And what’ll you do with it?”
York looked her in the eyes. “I’m going to get the fucking thing signed.”
He left Theara and Cassandra in his office and marched down to Palevi’s office where he found Add’kas’adanna looking at a sit-map on the screen of Palevi’s terminal. The sergeant stood to one side, his back to a wall, his hand resting nervously on his sidearm. Sab’ach’ahn stood behind Add’kas’adanna like a predatory animal. York walked around Palevi’s desk, stopped beside Add’kas’adanna and looked at the screen. Home Fleet had taken up a classic defensive formation, with support from portions of Seventh Fleet. The rest of Seventh was too far out to make a difference, and the Kinathins were driving inward at maximum transition velocity.
“They’re not approaching in strike formation,” York said.
“And how do you know that?” Add’kas’adanna asked.
“I have fought Kinathins before. And Sab’ach’ahn confirmed it.”
She said nothing and continued to stare at the screen.
York continued. “Your people think we’ll understand their approach, that we’ll know they want to talk first, fight later only if there is no alternative. And my people don’t know how to read a Kinathin approach formation. They’ll fire upon your people, and then we’ll battle to the death.”
For the first time she looked away from the screen, looked at him and waited.
He continued. “I’ll give you access to a communications link, and I ask that you contact your people and explain to them the danger we all face from misunderstanding. And then extend an invitation for them to meet with the Imperial Senate, the Admiralty Council and the emperor aboard this ship.”
It unnerved him the way she stared at him. “And how do I know you’ll not betray us? You who know nothing of kith’ain.”
Move, move, don’t stop, don’t think, just move.
York extended his hand out to one side, palm up. “Sergeant,” he said calmly. “Your sidearm.”
Palevi slapped the gun in his hand so hard it hurt. York checked the load, then reversed the gun, and holding it by the barrel in his right hand, he reached out with his left and took Add’kas’adanna’s hand in his. He placed the butt of the gun in her hand, wrapped the fingers of her hand carefully around it, specifically positioned her index finger on the trigger, then raised the muzzle of the gun and put it beneath his own chin. Then carefully, audibly, he clicked the safety off, and lowered his own hands. He looked her in the eyes as he said, “I can betray no one if I’m dead.”
She frowned and her eyes narrowed, then suddenly she laughed. “Are you certain you’re not Kinathin, Captain Ballin?” She lowered the gun, clicked the safety on and tossed it across the room to Palevi.
“Kinatha will talk, Captain Ballin,” she said. “But with you. Only with you.”
“Captain,” York’s implants snapped. “Jakobee here. We’ve got the last of them on board. W
e’re ready to depart.”
York keyed his implants. “I’ll be on the bridge momentarily.”
“Mister Eldinow, set course for that Kinathin armada, maximum sublight drive. Get us out of this gravity well and start building velocity so we can make transition. Miss Gant, compute a short transition hop to coordinates half way between Home Fleet and the approaching Kinathins.”
“Cap’em?”
He glanced over his shoulder; Kalee was standing there. “You got a problem with your cybarm?”
“Ya.” He stuck out his left arm where the fingers were going numb. Kalee grabbed York’s right arm, pressed one of his little instruments against it.
“Seems to be working fine, Cap’em.”
York looked at his two hands. The cybarm felt so real he’d forgotten which was which. He decided not to mention the numb fingers. “Get lost,” he growled at Kalee.
“Captain,” McGeahn said. “I have a Captain Bella Tzecharra, commanding H.M.S. Stargazer, requesting permission to speak with you.”
“What does she want?”
“She didn’t say, sir, but she did identify Stargazer as, in her words, late of Third Fleet.”
That was a curious way of putting it. “Okay. Put her on.”
Tzecharra was an attractive, middle-aged woman with dark hair and a lean, angular face, and she was all navy. “You were at Aagerbanne,” York asked, “and then at Sarasan?”
“Yes,” she said. “I obeyed orders, though they didn’t sit well with me and my fellow captains.”
“Then you were one of the captains who mutinied?”
She shook her head slowly. “No. But later, like you, we were given a taste of the Admiralty Council’s loyalty.” She quickly described the events that led up to the short battle between the Kinathin armada and the remnants of Third Fleet. “I have sixteen battle ready ships, Captain. We’re in reasonably good condition, and our ordinance reserves are standing at fifty-two percent. We can fight, and now that we’ve seen the broadcast of what they did to you, we want to ask you a question. Are you trying to take over the empire by coup?”
