Starcruiser Polaris: He Never Died

by Richard Tongue

   “Focus, people,” Mike said. “Xerxes hurts them a lot more than Trotsky hurts us. They died well, and they died to give us our shot. Helm, prepare a gravity turn around Titan. We’re coming around for another pass.”

   “We barely survived this one...” Ortiz began.

   “That’s what ships are for, Commander,” he replied. “That’s what ships are for.”

  Chapter 22

   Cordova fired the last rounds from her rifle into the advancing Commonwealth guards, knowing that she was going to run out of ammunition long before they ran out of people, knowing that, and not caring. She’d managed to buy enough time for Commodore Curtis and the others to get away, and that was more than she’d expected. She’d even beaten back the first wave of attackers, forced them to regroup for another attack, but the battle was going to come to an end at any second.

   She saw the leering faces of the approaching guards, stepping over the bodies of their predecessors, the blood-lust in their eyes as they sought vengeance for their fallen comrades, and pulled the trigger to yield nothing other than a depressing click. The nearest raised his weapon, wanting to savor the last second of her life, making the critical mistake that would end his, as a fusillade of shots slammed into his side, tossing his body against the wall with blood splattered on the floor.

   Petrov raced towards her, rifle in hand, throwing a pair of clips her way before asking, “What the hell happened up here?”

   “The peace conference is a sham,” she replied, slamming the new clip in place. “The Federation and Commonwealth fleets decided that martial law was a better idea. They’re going to massacre the delegates unless we can stop them.” Walking out into the corridor, she saw Bailey, also with a rifle, and asked, “Just the two of you?”

   “We got called into special emergency session, about fifteen minutes ago,” the Martian began. “We ran a little late, and heard the shooting up here. I take it you didn’t know anything about that?”

   “I’m guessing they’re getting an invitation to a massacre,” Cordova replied.

   “What’s happening in orbit?” Petrov asked, his face showing concern for his daughter and impending grandchild. “Any news from Castro?”

   “Nothing specific, but I’m guessing the attack has started up there. I don’t see how we can help them for the moment, but at least we can stop them completing this part of the plan.” Looking left and right, she said, “Any more of those bastards up here?”

   “Not at the moment,” Bailey replied. “I think you made a pretty comprehensive mess of them, Gabi. I counted half a dozen corpses on the way up here. We must have dealt with a pretty substantial part of their strength.”

   “I damned well hope so,” she said, peering down into the street below. Crowds were gathering outside, waving banners in the air, under the eye of the Commonwealth-suborned security, loitering all around. “Elevator secure?”

   “Jammed,” Petrov said. “Permanently. I didn’t want them to get any reinforcements that way. Probably should have thought that one through a little longer.”

   Glancing at her watch, Cordova asked, “When was this meeting supposed to begin?”

   “About ten minutes ago. Got a plan?”

   “I’ll go in all guns blazing, hold them off as long as I can, while the two of you head the long way around and catch them in the rear. That gives us two chances to ride to the rescue.” She paused, and added, “I’m guessing a lot of them want me dead around now. That makes me a pretty good decoy.”

   “Right,” Petrov said. “Watch yourself, Major. It’s dangerous out there.”

   “Just be there when I need you,” she replied, racing down the corridor, heading for the emergency stairs. She didn’t know which route the others would take, and thought it better that she didn’t. In the unlikely event that she was caught, the less she knew, the better, though she had no intention of permitting the situation to get that grave. This time she wouldn’t spend all her bullets, and make sure she kept one back to the end.

   She kicked open the double doors to the stairs with a savage kick, racing down them three at a time, screaming a war cry her father had taught her as a girl. The last thing she wanted was stealth. She wanted everyone in the building to hear her. Had to, if her mission was to succeed. She stopped two levels early, hoping to throw the pursuers she was expecting off the trail, smashing a fire alarm as she raced past, sprinklers cascading water across the floor.

   She was being obvious. That was the point. There was no time for subtlety, and while a good commander would hold back his people, knowing that she was attempting to lure them into a trap, even the greatest would struggle when his men had revenge on their minds. As she’d expected, she saw a pair of guards racing down the corridor towards her, firing bullets almost at random into the air all around, smashing into the wall and hurling chunks of brick to the floor. She returned fire, sending them sliding into cover, and ducked down a side passage, not really caring where it led, only knowing that it would distract the guards for a moment longer.

   At the end of the passage, two more troopers reacted, moving from their position standing on either side of a door to fire at her, both bullets ripping into the ground. She returned fire, two quick shots that felled her foes, but more shots were coming at her from the rear as the guards reacted. On instinct, she raced for the door the two men had been protecting, sliding a hacking rod into position to crack the lock. Just in time, the door slid open, and she ducked inside, weapon in hand, working the mechanism to close and seal it again, gasping for breath.

   “Are you here to kill me?” Nakamura asked, sitting up in his bed. “It’s just that you seem to be taking your time about it, and for all you know, I could be a very dangerous man.” Bullets rang on the door outside, and he continued, “Or have you just picked a very strange place to hide.”

   Raising her gun to cover the aged politician, Cordova replied, “Don’t even pretend to tell me that you don’t know why I’m here. I ought to kill you right now, though I think you’re probably worth more as a hostage. Why didn’t you go down to the so-called emergency session? Didn’t want to watch the massacre you ordered?”

   “Massacre?” he asked, reaching for a dressing gown. “Major, I give you my solemn vow that I don’t have the first idea what you are talking about. I heard the shooting upstairs, but the guards told me that it was under control. I presume they are dead now.”

   “They fired first,” she replied. The bullets ceased, and a moment later, there was a pounding on the door, and she yelled, “Try and open it, and I’ll kill the Chairman!”

   “Feel free,” a voice replied. “You’ll only be saving us the trouble.” She looked at him, and a sad sigh came from the old man’s lips as a cutting laser began to burn into the door.

   Rising from his bed, Nakamura said, “Humor an old man in his final moments, Major, and kindly tell me what is going on here? I was having a most pleasant dream before I learned that my own people had decided to kill me.”

   “The military, the Commonwealth and Federation military, are planning to sabotage the peace conference. Essentially, we’re in the middle of a military coup, and I simply assumed that you were involved. I guess they decided that you were surplus to requirements as well.”

   “Evidently,” he replied, walking over to a side cabinet and pulling out a pistol with belt, strapping it over his dressing gown and cutting a faintly ludicrous, if dangerous appearance. “Don’t look so shocked, Major,” he said, smiling at her expression. “I once held the rank of Lieutenant in the Federation Fleet, and I still practice on the firing range whenever the opportunity permits. I venture that you might be wanting a sidekick in the action to come.”

   She looked at him, frowned, then said, “I hadn’t...”

   “Splendid. Now, I consider it most likely that our friends outside are positioned on either side of the door, and the cutting laser will doubtless permit them ac
cess in a matter of moments. I think it best that we control the time and place of the battle, don’t you?” She stared at him, dumbfounded, and he said, “I’m glad you agree. I suggest you take the right, I take the left, and that you open the door on my mark.”

   “You’re sure you still know how to use that?” she asked, gesturing at the pistol.

   “Just like flying a shuttle, Major. You never truly forget how.” He ambled over to his assigned position, pistol in hand, and gestured for her to take her place. Shaking her head in disbelief, she moved to the door, her hand poised over the controls, slamming her final clip into position. The heat from the laser sent beads of sweat forming on her forehead, an angry burn running almost the entire length of the door. It would be a matter of seconds before they were through in any case, no matter what she did next.

   “Now,” Nakamura said, calmly, and she tapped the control, the door sliding open, the laser briefly racing across to the far end of the room, setting the sheets of Nakamura’s bed ablaze. With a cold eye and quick finger, the politician leaned through the door, placing a shot squarely into the forehead of the first guard, seconds ahead of Cordova, who released a quick burst of ammunition into the space beyond, a howling scream testifying to the success of her attack.

   Shaking his head, Nakamura reached across to turn off the laser as the sprinklers doused the flames, sending clouds of acrid smoke in the air, and said, “Wasteful, Major. I prefer single, well-positioned shots. One never knows when one might obtain fresh reloads, though my former protectors seem to have left us surprisingly well-provisioned in that regard.” Snatching a gun from the floor, he expertly cocked it, gesturing down the corridor. “Shall we?”

   Nodding, she walked after him, and asked, “You’re no stranger to this, are you?”

   “I wasn’t born behind a desk, Major, and I spent my youth as a freedom fighter, just like you.” He paused, sighed, then added, “Our victory was perverted. Some of us tried to stop it, and I freely admit that most of us failed. The collapse of the conference is perhaps the final example of that.” Turning to her, he added, “The Federation is dead, Major. That chapter of humanity’s history is closed, and it will be down to people such as you and I to write the next pages. This time we cannot afford to make the same mistake, and we cannot permit anyone else to make that mistake for us. If that means sacrificing my life, then I am an old man, and one who has much to atone for.”

   “You’re as big a murderer as the rest of them.”

   “Perhaps,” he replied. “Perhaps that is so, and perhaps I made the same mistakes as the others, though I always believed that I was doing the right thing for the majority. Command is the art of compromise, Major, though sometimes we go too far.” Looking at her weapon, he added, “Kill me.”

   “What?”

   “Kill me. If it will help, if it will make you feel better, if you feel you have to avenge yourself for everything the Federation has done to you and yours. Kill me. But the payment for my life is that you have to promise me that you won’t let the military win, that you won’t let them drag humanity down the same tired road once again. We’ve trod it far too many times as it is, and I think it more than time for something new. Something better. At the very least, another throw of the dice.”

   She looked into the old man’s eyes, and saw something she had never expected to see in the face of a Federation politician.

   Sincerity.

   There was no fear. The man was willing to die. But for this moment at least, she wasn’t willing to kill him.

   “I need a partner if we’re going to save the delegates. You can live long enough for that.”

   Cracking a smile, he added, “Then I ask one more thing.”

   “What?”

   “Make sure they spell my name right on the headstone.”

   “Deal.”

  Chapter 23

   “Report,” Curtis said, looking at Rojek.

   “Looks like our friends up ahead really did a number on the enemy fleet, skipper,” he replied. “They’re scattered to hell and gone. They’re trying to get themselves back into some sort of defensive formation, but they’re not making much progress. We’re going to be on them before they have a chance to form up. The big question is which part of the formation you want to attack? He paused, then added, “Perseus is pairing up with Theseus. That’s the stronger element.”

   “Are we going to get a clean run at the target?” Curtis asked.

   “Not a chance, sir,” Norton replied. “Too many fighters flying around, and I’ve been keeping track. Perseus has held its birds back. I guess they’re waiting for us to get closer, or they want to guarantee a second strike.” Turning to him, she said, “That suggests who we want to go for, I think, Commodore.”

   Shaking his head, he said, “That’s exactly what they’ll be expecting. We’re going for Agamemnon and Hector. Ironic enough names for an interplanetary double act. Inform Regulus that we’re to focus on one ship each, and link in our defensive armament. Lieutenant, I want the fastest pass you can manage. It doesn’t matter if we don’t hurt them too badly on this run. We’ve got to reduce the odds a little.”

   “We could try and link up with Castro and Liberty,” Hudson suggested. “One fast pass, then link up with the whole fleet for the second?”

   “They’d have time to form up, and they’d outgun us again. Trotsky died to give us a single shot at this, and I have no intention of letting them down. Time to target?”

   “Ninety-five seconds, sir.”

   “Commit,” he replied. “Any fighters around?”

   “Wing Commander Kani is attempting to rally a couple of squadrons, but they aren’t going to get to the battle in time to support us. We’re going to have to go in without cover.”

   Nodding, he focused on the trajectory plot, watching the ships dance around as Norton dragged Polaris into position to make the attack as planned. Already he could see the defensive barrage opening up, a couple of fighter packs making attacks of opportunity on Hector, their commanders reasoning his strategy and doing their best to help him press his attack home.

   He looked around his bridge, watched his crew at their posts, and smiled. Some of them were old hands, back from the days when he had originally commanded this ship. Most of them had been gathered in over the course of the war, assembled from a dozen other vessels and outposts, but somehow they had been meshed together over time into a crew, one of the finest he had ever known. None of them had to be here, none compelled by outside orders or a uniform. Each had made his or her choice to make the future of humanity their personal responsibility.

   “Any time now, sir,” Rojek said. “I have a targeting solution on Agamemnon, prioritizing engines, then weapons.” Glancing at a side panel, he added, “Perseus and Theseus are coming around, trying to close the range.” He grimaced, then continued, “Fighters launching, sir. Three squadrons, all of them on an intercept course.”

   “They’ll never get through our defensive screen,” Norton confidently predicted.

   “Just one more nail in our coffin,” Saxon gloomily replied. “Signal from the surface, sir. Riots breaking out in the streets.” She paused, then said, “Back to where we started.”

   “Ten seconds to firing range,” Norton said.

   “Preparing full-power salvo,” Rojek added. “We’ll get them, Teddy.”

   “See that you do,” he replied. There was nothing more he could do. No more decisions to make. Everything rested now on the skill of their gunners, the efficiency of their power systems. The time for guile was over. Now it was time for raw firepower to have its day. He smiled as he felt the familiar pounding of the mass drivers overhead, tossing their deadly payload into space. Each turret would make minor adjustments, the better to confound the enemy, hoping to prevent them from obtaining the full benefit of their defensive firepower.

   He glanced across at the screen, nodding as
he saw their offensive barrage inching closer and closer to the enemy craft, while Perseus’ fighter wing closed in, adopting a formation right out of the rulebook. One more thing in their favor. Only the corrupt and the doctrinaire were fighting for the enemy now, the others either dead or fighting for the rebellion. He, not Crawford, had the combat-ready crew. Even the Commonwealth forces had only blooded themselves in a single battle under his command, and they’d only come into play after the battle had been all but won.

   Frowning, he watched the two ships up ahead, both struggling to keep up with the intense volume of fire being hurled their way, even with the distant assistance of their comrades. There was something wrong, something strange about the way they were flying. They could be doing a lot more than they were to fight back, instead seemingly content to remain in position and pound away at the enemy forces. The oncoming fighters were going to be a problem, but not an insuperable one. Though there were no organized formations in position to stop them, there were enough individual rebel fighters flying around to give them something to think about.

   He was missing something, something critical, and he couldn’t help but think that it was going to cost them the battle. Reaching for his master sensor controls, he focused everything on the lead ship, on Agamemnon, and flicked through the readouts to examine every detail. He paused at the analysis of internal space, and his eyes widened.

   There was no oxygen outgassing from the ship. Even a vessel in perfect repair released something, had some trace of air escaping. Without oxygen, either the crew were having to fight in spacesuits, or…