Starcruiser Polaris: Nothing Left To Lose

by Richard Tongue

   The status lights along the corridor glowed a deep red, warning of imminent disaster, calling the crew to their alert stations, but none of them were anywhere to be found. There hadn't been any attempt to evacuate, no shuttles or escape pods launched, and all other craft in the air had already returned to the surface, seeking the safety of the silent Korolevgrad, home of ten thousand terrified miners and their families wondering what was to become of them, whether they would be swallowed up in the fighting taking place all around them.

   She glanced at Saxon, who returned her look with a quick shrug, increasing her pace to take the head of the column, the place of greatest risk, as they raced for the hatch at the end of the corridor. Before they could work the lock, the seal disengaged, and the door opened, revealing two people, a man and a woman, wearing Commerce Directorate uniform, their hands in the air and a single sonic shotgun at their feet.

   “I don't even know how to use that thing,” Captain Hammond said, kicking it with her boot. “My crew and I don't want to die today, Major...”

   “You know me?” she asked.

   “Come on,” her companion said. “You're the first item on the news, have been for the last three weeks. Wanted for Crimes Against The State, in big letters, with a reward of up to a million for information leading to your capture. And no, I don't plan on cashing in. Too much in love with myself.” Flashing a smile, he said, “Alexander Grant. Medical Officer.”

   “Where's Sherman?” Saxon asked.

   “Major,” the overhead speaker barked. “Dixon. We're down in Engineering, and Sherman's taken over the Tau Drive control room. He's threatening to start a transition here, within the threshold.”

   “He can't do that,” Grant protested. “He'd tear the ship into a billion pieces.”

   “And stand a better than even chance of taking Polaris with him,” Saxon said, looking anxiously at Cordova. “Captain, do you have access to your life support system? Can you kill the atmosphere on that deck, take out the oxygen?”

   Hammond raced over to a control panel, pushing the technician at the controls out of the way, and scrambled her hands across the console, frantically trying to bring the required systems on-line, muttering curses under her breath as the systems failed to activate. She looked up, shaking her head, her mouth locked in a bitter grimace.

   “Locked out. I can't do anything on that deck. Can't even kill the lights.” She paused, then said, “I ordered all the crew to their quarters. Alex and I were the only ones on duty. I thought Sherman had given up a little too easily.”

   “You thought...” Cordova began.

   “I'm an undercover agent for the Directorate, Major,” Grant said, matter of factly. “Don't worry, I'm on your side, but I thought I'd convinced him that he could do more good working undercover with the Underground for a while.”

   “Saxon, stay here,” Cordova said.

   “Not a chance,” she replied. “You're going to need all the help you can get down there.”

   Glaring at Saxon, Cordova said, “Captain, move your ship as far away from Polaris as possible, but keep within the gravitational threshold. And order all hands to abandon ship. One of our shuttles can pick them up once they get to safety, and if the worst happens...”

   “Then this system and everyone in it will be destroyed,” Grant said. “Right now I'll be happy with any outcome better than that.”

   “I'll clear the blast doors, all the way down the corridor,” Hammond added. “Anything else you need?”

   Cordova paused at the threshold, then said, “When I give the word, turn off the artificial gravity. But only when I give the signal. Understand?”

   “Got it. Good luck.”

   Saxon was already on her way through the doors, and Cordova struggled to keep pace as they sprinted down the transverse corridor towards Engineering, a quarter-mile in the opposite direction. She could see Dixon and the others setting up a barricade, could hear the cracks of gunfire echoing from the walls. At least their target was distracted, even if it was just for a moment.

   A bullet flew past her ear as she slid into cover, almost crashing into Dixon as he leaned in position. He gestured at a prone figure next to him, a crewman hastily tearing his way through a First Aid kit. Blood was dripping onto the carpet, a look of anguish and pain on the wounded man's face.

   “Played us for suckers,” Dixon said. “We thought he was surrendering.”

   “So did everyone else,” she replied. “Any other way out?”

   “Just the one, and he's got his hand on the drive controls.” Montevideo's engines roared, and he said, “We're going to let him hijack us?”

   “Not a chance, but the further from Polaris and the planet we get, the happier I'll be.” During the earliest days of Tau Drive development, the limitations of the gravitational threshold hadn't been truly understood. Luckily, the first tests took place in the safety of the Asteroid Belt. When Pallas had been ripped clear of the system, it had only taken a few cubic million miles of space with it. It had taken more than a decade for the cosmologists to work out just how fortunate they'd been, and superluminal research had stalled for years as a result. Ultimately, though, the temptation of the stars had been too strong for humanity to overcome, despite the fearsome risks they were running.

   “We'll have to rush him,” Saxon said. “No other chance.”

   “You're crazy,” Dixon replied. “He's in a fixed defensive position, and he doesn't have any objections to dying for his cause. Can't we stall him?”

   “Sooner or later he'll hit the button,” Saxon said, glancing at Cordova. “He's a fanatic. Fanatics do crazy things, and they rarely care what happens to anyone else when they act.”

   “I'll take the lead,” Cordova said, pulling out a pistol. “He wearing armor?”

   “Just a flak jacket,” the disbelieving Dixon said.

   “Head-shot, then,” Saxon replied. “You take the left, Major, I'll take the right, and you might want to send that signal up to the bridge before we move.”

   Nodding, Cordova looked at the corridor, judging the distance, she said, “Five seconds ought to be enough.” Pulling out her communicator, she said, “Hammond, hit the switch in five seconds from my mark.” She looked out, tensing herself for the sprint, and added, “Mark.”

   Saxon and Cordova raced from the improvised cover, bullets flying all around them, but before their opponent could get a clear shot, the gravity field faded away, and he tumbled back from his cover as the recoil from his pistol tossed him into the drive room. Cordova raised her gun to take a shot, her instincts slowed by the realization of the damage she could cause if she missed, allowing Saxon to shoot first, her bullet missing by inches and smashing into a monitor screen, sending a shower of sparks flying through the air.

   Cordova, however, found her mark, a bullet slamming into his side, sending blood spurting into the air. Grimacing with pain, Sherman turned, reaching for the controls, knowing he was spending his final breath in the pursuit of revenge, but this time Saxon caught him with a shot, hitting him in the wrist, sending him dropping to the deck, writhing in pain. He looked up, locking Cordova with an evil eye.

   “I will be remembered,” he muttered, crunching his teeth together before anyone could stop him, activating his suicide pill.

   “Stupid kid,” Saxon said, holstering her pistol, dropping to the deck as the gravity field snapped back on. “He died for nothing.” Looking up at the damage she did, she added, “Nothing serious. Just the display. We could probably activate the Drive without it, but it shouldn't take more than an hour to repair. It made a bit of a mess, but the relay network hasn't been touched. Good shot, by the way. Not easy hitting a target in a low-gravity field.” She gestured at an undamaged terminal, and added, “I'm going to see if any of my access codes still work.”

   “You think there's a chance of that?”

   “I've got a few they don't kn
ow about. Can't hurt to try, anyway.” As Saxon turned to the controls, Cordova pulled out her communicator, flicking through the frequencies.

   “Polaris Actual here,” Curtis' voice said. “Go ahead.”

   “Montevideo is secure, Commander. Phase One complete. Is there any chance now that you'll tell me what exactly Phase Two is?”

   “Senior officer's briefing in one hour. Have Montevideo's crew and any prisoners transported over to Polaris. I'd like to give them the chance to change sides. You can inform any that aren't interested that I'll be leaving them here in escape pods as soon as we depart. I don't intend any action against Korolevgrad, so there will be plenty of shuttles to pick them up.”

   “We're leaving soon?”

   “In a few hours. We've got a little work to do first. I don't want to wait here for long. They'll have sent a message out, and I'm guessing that a Starcruiser Squadron is already on its way.”

   Saxon turned from the console, and said, “You're right, Commander. They've got a special formation assembled to deal with us. There's a message here in the buffer ordering all ships to co-operate with the task force commander.”

   “Who is it?” Curtis asked.

   Saxon glanced at Cordova, and said, “Commander Michael Curtis.”

   “My son…,” Curtis muttered. There was a long pause, and he said, “One hour, people. On Polaris. See to it. Out.”

   “That complicates things a bit,” Cordova said, as she dropped her communicator back into her pocket.

   “We're you born with that talent for underestimation, or did you have to take lessons?” Saxon replied. “They've picked the one person he might not be able to beat.”

   Shaking her head, Cordova said, “Let's get this corpse to the nearest airlock. He's staining the carpet.”

   Saxon's eyes narrowed, and she replied, “That's a bit dammed cold, even for you.”

   “He died to keep a lot of old men in their office chairs. That's all he did. I don't find anything particularly attractive about a dead hero. A real hero lives for his cause, rather than dying for it.” She paused, sighed, and said, “I'm sure we can find someone to say some words over him if it will make you feel better, but frankly, I suspect he's past caring.”

  Chapter 4

   “Atten-shun!” Lieutenant Sam Dietrich said, as Commander Michael Curtis walked into the briefing room, the other officers of the squadron rising from their chairs as he approached. Normally, Mike wasn't one for formality, but in this instance, Dietrich had convinced him to stamp his authority on the ships in his task force from the start.

   He looked around the room at the assembled officers, Commander Edith Guerrero representing Cygnus, Commander Bernadette Morrison for Arcturus. Both new commanding officers. Morrison was experienced enough, but had spent most of her time behind a desk. Guerrero had put in more star-time, but two weeks ago, she'd been a Lieutenant, serving as Cygnus' Operations Officer. Third in the chain of command, until the Battle of the Cinnamon Belt had caused a handful of casualties and ten times as many enforced retirements.

   In one sense, Mike was happy to have the two ships that had been beaten that day along for the ride. They had personal stakes in hunting down Polaris, but there was always the danger that such involvement would push them further than they should go, lead them to take actions that might come back to haunt them. He looked up at the starfield outside, the beautiful blue orb of Caledonia stretched out below them, the only world other than Earth and Mars where humans could breath the air. The terraforming operation had been even easier than it had been on Earth's neighbor, completed generations ago. He collected himself for a second them, took his seat at the head of the table.

   “As you were,” he said, and the assembled officers took to their seats. Behind him, the shapely figure of Lieutenant Anastasia Petrova, his Political Officer, walked into the room, followed by Lieutenant Tasha Schmidt, his Tactical Officer. The two of them were far closer than he was comfortable with, and he could almost feel the dagger slipping into his back as they entered the room, taking their positions at the table with a curt nod.

   “I know that you've all heard the message from Korolevgrad,” Mike began. “Naturally, Commodore McGuire was eager for us to proceed at once to intercept Polaris, but I managed to talk him out of it.”

   “Why?” Morrison asked. “We know where they are…”

   “Where they were,” Mike replied. “Forty-one hours in direct flight, and by the time we get there, Polaris will be long gone. This has all the hallmarks of a hit-and-run raid, not a full-scale assault, and my judgment is that he's launching this attack precisely to throw us off.”

   “And if you're wrong...”

   “Then Korolevgrad is a minor frontier system,” Dietrich replied, “and of only limited value to the Federation. Yes, we've lost a transport, but there's not much we can do about that. They'd scuttle her before returning her to us anyway. Write it off.”

   Guerrero, a scowl on her face, said, “Then we're just going to sit here and do nothing?”

   “Not quite,” Mike replied. “They've shown at least some of their hand, Commander, and I intend to make good use of that. One of the more obvious tactics they could employ is hit-and-run raids on our outer systems, try to throw us off-balance. And he...”

   “Commander Curtis, you mean,” Morrison said. “Your father.”

   “In name only, I assure you, Commander,” Mike replied. “I haven't seen him in twenty years.” Looking around the room, he said, “Let's get this out of the way right now. My father became a drunken derelict, bumming his way around Titan, and my own assessment is that he's had some sort of breakdown, being used as a figurehead to prop up some sort of revolt. Either that, or he's been a traitor for a long time, and all of that was a cover. Our job is to bring Polaris down. Intact if possible, in pieces if not, and that's exactly what I'm going to do. Is that clear?”

   “Perfectly clear, Commander,” Petrova replied. “Please, continue.”

   He glared at her for a second, then said, “As I was saying, likely they're making extensive use of civilian personnel. It wouldn't surprise me if he was attempting to train them under combat conditions. Build up for a bigger attack. I don't intend to let it get that far.”

   “Then how are we going to find them?” Morrison asked.

   “We don't have to,” he replied. “I want him to find us.” Reaching for a control, he tapped a button, and said, “EQ Pegasi. Solovki. Another minor outpost, one being used by the Political Directorate for high-profile prisoners. I think we'll find that this is a target they'll be very interested in. Especially when the Underground learns that several recently captured prisoners are to be moved there for interrogation.”

   Nodding, Guerrero said, “Tempting. So we'll be there waiting for them?”

   “Jakarta has already loaded the prisoners,” Mike said. “They'll be on their way in less than an hour. We'll be proceeding to the rendezvous point in two. I've made sure...”

   “It won't work,” Morrison said, bluntly. “Too obvious.”

   “Oh, I'm quite certain that they'll expect that it is a trap,” Mike replied, a smile on his face. “That's why there's a second intelligence leak being released as we speak that a high-priority shipment of uranium and transuranics is being shipped out of Van Maanen's at the same time.” Leaning forward, he said, “They'll think that we arranged the prisoner transfer as a decoy. Though we've made it clear that the real prisoners are on board, and indeed, they are. Had to be, in order to keep the deception.”

   A smile spread across Petrova's face, and she replied, “I like it, Commander. Devious. I presume that the other transport doesn't exist?”

   “Technically, it does. The Commerce Directorate loaned us Vladivostok for the occasion. She's on her way back to Earth to be scrapped anyway, so if something goes wrong, we don't lose anything other than a collection of spare parts. Jakarta will be under t
he protection of all three cruisers for the entire mission, so no risk there.” Reaching for his controls, he said, “Lots of nice moons at Solovki. Plenty of places for us to hide, and we'll transfer a squadron each to Jakarta, just to be on the safe side. Polaris won't know what hit them.”

   “This plan has the approval of the Political Directorate?” Morrison asked.

   “And the Commerce Directorate, as well as Admiral Yoshida. Everyone has signed off on this.” He looked around the room, and said, “I expect each and every one of you to perform at your best. We've done everything we can to assemble overwhelming odds, but that was just as true at the Cinnamon Belt, and there Polaris was able to escape. I do not anticipate a similar failure this time, ladies and gentlemen, and you will all do everything necessary to see that this operation reaches a successful conclusion. I hope we all understand each other. Dismissed.”

   The officers rose to their feet as one, marching out of the room, only Dietrich remaining behind with his friend, watching as Petrova and Schmidt walked into the elevator together. Once the last of the others had left the room, he stretched out catlike on his chair, looking up at the display.

   “It's a good plan, Mike,” he said. “Do you really think it can work?”

   “I know it can,” Mike replied. “It's just the sort of double bluff he'll go for. The worst case, the absolute worst case, we lose a half-wrecked freighter and have to try something else. And if he doesn't fall for this trick, he'll fall for the next one. We've got the rebels on the run.”

   “You're assuming you'll get two chances, buddy, and I'm not so sure about that. Admiral Yoshida went out on a hell of a limb to give you this chance. You're fighting for your reputation as much as to bring down your father.” Frowning, he continued, “I'm not sure I could be quite so cold about him as you are.”