“Cover the entrances. There will be more of them any moment.”
“What’s going on?” the Sirian asked, bombast fled from his voice as he looked at the others. “What’s the meaning of all of this, and why is he...”
“It’s simple, Devon,” she replied, walking forward. “We came here to try and build a better future, but there are too many people who’d prefer things to remain just as they are, for the strong to remain in control, the population crushed underfoot. A single Commonwealth delegate clutched his rifle nervously, looking around, and she walked up to him, placing her hand on his shoulder.
“The Federation, the Commonwealth, are history,” she said. “I know that. Old allegiances don’t mean a damn thing. A collection of tyrants up there in the skies above us are planning to turn the clock back a hundred years, to add military misrule to the catalog of failed experiments in interstellar government.”
Nodding, Nakamura added, “Freedom, liberty and justice are inconvenient to these people. You can’t put them on a balance sheet or an org chart. You’ve got to accept them.” He sighed, and said, “We’ve forgotten that, time and again, and the result is the misery in which billions now suffer, down on Earth and up in the colonies. There has to be a better way, some superior form of government that we can attempt. Perhaps it is time to give democracy another try.”
Petrov waved his communicator, and said, “It might not be up to us. I managed to get a quick signal from Regulus. A distress call. There’s some sort of firefight taking place up in orbit, our fleet against that of the Federation and Commonwealth, and I don’t think it’s going very well.” With a sigh, he added, “This might end up being our last stand, whether we like it or not.”
Shaking his head, Nakamura replied, “I do not believe that, and even if it is so, there remains another answer. Any government, even the basest tyranny, ultimately rules only by the will of the people. If you doubt me, look around you! My predecessor as Chairman was a ruthless thug, with the power of a mighty military-political organization at his back, and yet, despite everything, you defeated him! You smashed his fleet, his power base, and the Federation fell!”
Glancing at the door, Cordova said, “We stopped them once. We’ll stop them again. Even if we lose the battle in orbit, we can still win the war, but only if we all agree to put aside our past differences and find a way to live together in peace, as one government working for the benefit of all mankind. I know it can be done, and if nothing else, we have a solemn duty to those who have died during this struggle to try.”
“Company coming!” the Titanian delegate shouted, kicking over a chair to provide makeshift cover. The rest of the delegates moved to their chosen positions, rifles at the ready, many of them with looks of surprising ease on their faces. The negotiations had been anathema to most, but all of them had thrived in the crucible of conflict. Life was a lot easier when you had a rifle in your hands and an enemy racing your way. Everything reduced to a simple decision. You lived or you died.
Her ears rang as the far well exploded, stone and dust flying in every direction, hurling rubble all around. She looked up to see the Commonwealth forces moving forward, bullets racing all around, and turned to return fire, desperately trying to defend the delegation from attack. As the dust settled, the chanting from outside grew louder, and she realized that the enemy had pulled everything back from the perimeter, no longer caring whether or not the mob outside could break in. They were running out of manpower. This would soon be over.
Her rifle was empty, but a quick rummage through the pockets of a fallen guard yielded two more clips, and she continued to fire on the enemy forces, a mixture of Commonwealth and Federation troops now, the two intractable opponents suddenly finding common cause in shared oppression.
“Give it up!” the harsh voice of Admiral Crawford yelled. “Our people are winning the battle in orbit. Surrender now and I will guarantee your lives!”
Cordova looked around, trying to find where the enemy commander was hiding, and replied, “Just why should we trust you? The last time we accepted your word, it resulted in a sneak attack and a massacre. Not again. Never again.” Finally, she found her mark, and fired a single shot that yielded a cry of pain, the uniformed figure of the aged soldier-politician tumbling out of cover, clutching at a wound on his chest.
“Nice shooting, Major,” Nakamura said. Raising his voice, he continued, “We’ve won the battle on the surface, and we’re going to win the battle in orbit. I will hold no man responsible for obeying what he believed to be lawful orders. Surrender now, and I’ll promise you safe passage back to your homeworlds, or to the Halo Worlds, if you prefer.”
The shooting stopped for a moment, and a man wearing Lieutenant’s bars rose from the dust, looking nervously from side to side, before asking, “You’ll give us your word?”
“I will,” Nakamura said, rising out of cover. “Throw down your weapons, and all of this can end now, and we all get to go home again.”
“Not you, traitor,” the Lieutenant said. Everything seemed to slow as Cordova reached for Nakamura, dragging him back into cover as the first bullets fired. Twice the man missed, but the third time, he found his mark.
Her.
As Petrov avenged her, she looked down at the wound in her gut, pain shooting through her system. Even if there was a working medical facility within reach, her survival would be doubtful at best. She looked up at Nakamura, her bloody hand reaching for him, grasping at his sleeve as the old man leaned over her, tears running down his cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just an old fool.”
“Don’t be,” she gasped. “Don’t be. Just promise me something. Make this count. Make it more than just words. Don’t let this ever happen again.” She panted for breath, and pressed, “Promise me!”
“I will, little one,” he said, with a voice oddly not his own. “I will.”
Her vision began to blur, and she looked around to see a familiar figure standing by her side, oddly shadowed, his hand reaching down to her. For a second, she peered unknowingly at his face, before realizing at last who it was.
“Papa?” she whispered. “Papa?”
“It’s me, Gabi,” her father said, reaching down to take her hand. “You’ve made me proud, prouder than I ever could have imagined. Nobody could have done more than you did. Time to rest now.” Looking around, he added, “They’ll be fine. They’re good people, and you led them well. Come on. Time to leave.”
She nodded, gasped for her final breath, and closed her eyes for the last time.
Chapter 27
Curtis looked at the image on the screen, static filling the display as Polaris began her final dive. Norton made constant adjustments to their course in a desperate attempt to keep them on target despite the unpredictable eruptions from the hull breaches tossing them around. Perseus had a slight advantage on speed, but Polaris had the acceleration to catch her, closing the distance a meter at a time.
And up ahead, only thirty thousand kilometers away, Larson Tower, thousands of miles high, one of the few Oligarch mega-projects to ever pay off, pumping millions of gallons of precious petrochemicals into the waiting tankers overhead. That Perseus’ commander was willing to make such a sacrifice told him one thing. They were beaten. This was a last act of revenge, not the act of a reasoning commander.
“Two minutes, ten seconds,” Norton said.
“Most of the crew have left the ship, Teddy,” Saxon added, looking over from her flickering console. “Those who still can, anyway. We’ve got a skeleton crew for the final dive.”
“Time to go, people,” Curtis said, moving to the helm. “I’ll take her, Lieutenant.”
“With all due respect, sir, not a chance. If I left the controls for even a second, we’d never get back on course. You should go, though.”
Turning to the rear, Curtis said, “That goes for everyone e
lse on the bridge. There’s a shuttle waiting one deck down, and I expect you all to be riding it down to the surface. Our aft sensors show that Regulus at least has life support, so you’ve got somewhere to go if the worst happens downstairs, and Hoxha will be back in two hours to clean up the mess. So get going.”
“Not without you,” Rojek said. “We started this together, and we’re going to finish it together. I’m going to ride this beast down to the end.” Looking at his controls, he added, “Besides, they’ll open up with everything they’ve got once we get within range, and you’re going to need someone good at the defense systems.”
“Major,” Curtis said, looking at Saxon, “I think it’s time for you to exercise that sense of enlightened self-interest that’s served you well up till now.” Raising a hand, he continued, “And before you say a word to justify remaining, you don’t have any skills I need on the bridge right now, but you are going to be needed down on the surface.”
She looked at him, and he added, “Major, I’m giving you a direct order to go.” He reached into his pocket, and tossed a datarod at her, saying, “See that this gets to my grandchild as soon as he or she comes of age. Maybe it’ll help.”
Snatching the datarod from the air, she placed it carefully in her pocket, nodded, saluted, and said, “Aye, aye, sir.” Looking around the bridge, she added, “Goodbye, sir,” and walked to the elevator, the rest of the duty technicians joining her as the doors slid shut, sending them speeding to what he hoped was the safety of the shuttle. It would be a wild ride through the debris fields that were about to erupt in orbit, but if they burned their engines hot, they ought to have a chance.
“Status, Norton?” he asked.
“Getting close, skipper,” she said. “He’s twisting his tail to try and throw me off, but we both know where the bastard’s going, and that helps. I think I can catch him as long as I don’t lose any thrust.” She stabbed a button, and added, “This would be a lot easier if I had any thruster control.”
“Where’s the fun in that,” he replied, sliding back into his command chair, looking around the bridge once again. When he’d first rescued his ship from the asteroid in which it had hidden, he’d had few more people on duty than he did now. For a few brief months, he’d brought Polaris back to life again, populated it with the finest crew he had ever known, fighting for the noblest cause. Freedom. And now they were on the threshold of success, and somehow it didn’t matter that he wasn’t going to be there to see it. He already could.
“Nothing on the communicators, Teddy,” Rojek said, with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I know you wanted to speak to him one last time.” Looking at the readings coming from the battered Castro, he added, “Assuming...”
“He’s alive,” Curtis said. “If he was dead, I’d know. Don’t ask me why, because I don’t have anything rational to back that up, but somehow, I’d know.”
“Closing on target,” Norton said. “Never thought it would end like this.”
“We’re giving Polaris a better end than she would have otherwise,” he replied. Sitting back in his chair, he cast his mind back to the end of his first run commanding his ship, the battle at Mareikuna that had ended in the massacre of tens of thousands of innocents. Polaris had somehow been stained by that atrocity, even though he’d done his best to stop it. He’d watched those people died, helpless to intervene.
All of this was justice. Justice for the dead. For the children on those transports who’d never had a chance to grow up. Maybe now they could rest easier. He looked at the few reports coming up from the surface, relayed by the shuttles on short-range transmitters before they dived too deep into the atmosphere. At least he could die knowing that he’d done his job. The last gasp of both the Commonwealth and the Federation was being drawn up ahead, the final, desperate action as the tyrants of two governments died.
Maybe, fifty years from now, another Edward Curtis would be sitting in a bar on Titan, plotting revolution against the successor government. Overthrowing the Commonwealth hadn’t had the desired effect, the leaders of that uprising corrupted within a short time. Except perhaps for Nakamura. He’d sounded as though he was sincere, though Curtis didn’t count himself as any judge of character when it came to the words of a Federation politician.
For whatever it was worth, the last hand of the Federation’s game had been played, and now the cards were going back to the dealer, ready to be shuffled a new game began. A few of the delegates had talked about an Interstellar Republic, long on idealism and short on details. Saxon and the others would be able to handle those. Probably.
“One minute to target,” Norton said. “Firing range in thirty seconds.” Turning to Curtis, she added, “I just want to tell you, sir, that serving on this ship has been both an honor and a privilege, and that I have no regrets about how it has ended. I knew I was taking a risk, but I could not have dreamed that I’d go out this big.”
“I feel the same way, Teddy,” Rojek said, turning from his station, one hand still dancing across the defense controls, setting up for the final automatic barrage. “No regrets. None at all. Except perhaps that things had to get this bad in the first place.” Looking down at Titan, he added, “Do you think they know what’s happening up here?”
“If they don’t, they will soon enough,” Curtis replied. “Thank you. Thanks for fighting with me, and thanks,” he paused, smiled and added, “for dying with me. I’m the one honored, and humbled.” Looking around the bridge, he continued, “She was a good ship, wasn’t she.”
“The best, Teddy,” Rojek said, patting his control panel. “The best. They never built a better one. And her name will be remembered forever. I think you got it right. They’ll be talking about this battle for centuries. Maybe they’ll even build a statue of us for kids to ignore for the next few decades.” Looking back at his station, he added, “Ten seconds to firing. They’re aiming their turrets our way.”
“Return the favor,” Curtis said. “Any sign of support? Fighters, anything at all?”
“Not a thing, I’m afraid,” his friend replied. “I guess everyone else is doing the smart thing and staying well clear. Though if this goes wrong, there won’t be much left down on the surface.”
“It won’t,” Norton said, easy confidence flowing through her voice.
Curtis looked up at the screen as the barrage began, bolts of energy burning through space for one last time. The remaining crew on Perseus must know that they were dead men, that their names would be cursed for all time, and didn’t seem to care about their own survival, concentrating everything on offensive fire, trying to punch holes through what was left of Polaris’ screen. Their particle beams warded off the enemy for scant seconds before the first gaps appeared, mass drivers pounding rocks into their side, Norton struggling ever harder to keep them on course, keep them moving, keep them on target.
He could just make out Perseus on the screen, a tiny dot in the darkness, heading towards the silver line of Larson Tower, reaching out into the heavens. There would be panic on the facility now, the technicians doing what they could to make the place safe, knowing that their options were far too limited. Building a space elevator was madness, the risk involved too great for anyone other than the Commonwealth, but they’d made it one of the great wonders of space.
And now, their descendants were doing their best to destroy it, and take millions of lives with it.
The engines roared a little louder, Norton throwing all the power she could find into the drive, Perseus growing ever closer as she brought the distance down. It had been Kani’s shot into the heat exchanger that had given them any chance at all, and Curtis hoped that the young pilot would live to enjoy the victory he’d won. One little shot that had changed the course of history.
“They’re getting through!” Rojek said, screaming impacts riddling the hull, but now, it almost didn’t matter. Polaris entered her final seconds of life proudly, battered a
nd beaten but still racing forth. The trajectory plot still showed them impacting scant seconds before the collision with the tower, and they’d have to time the last maneuver to the second if they were going to avoid impact. Even the debris swarm could cause serious damage, but the tower could live with a few collisions, as long as they could hold back the worst of the force.
“Fifteen seconds,” Norton said, strangely calm despite the maelstrom of death flying all around them, the constant rattle on the hull that meant that the particle beams had failed completely. The damage report monitors flickered out, unable to cope with the stream of data, the ship already wrecked beyond any conceivable repair. That the bridge had survived as long as it had was a miracle, but the game couldn’t last any longer.
Reaching across to his controls, Curtis saw with a smile that the jamming field had finally died, that he might be able to send one last message before impact. He tapped the buttons on his armrest, setting up the final call, and looked up to see Perseus, her lines so similar to Polaris, getting close enough now that her shape had resolved on the screen.
Her helmsman was trying to dodge, but Norton was better, using the last thrust available to her to place Polaris exactly where she wanted it to be, exactly where she needed her to be. For fifty years, she’d served the Federation with honor, and she was going out as she had lived, in the fire of combat, waging war against the enemies of the people. With a handful of seconds remaining, Curtis opened a channel, uncertain if anyone would ever hear him.
“Do better next time,” he said, sitting back in his chair as Perseus approached, thrusters firing in a desperate last-second attempt to block them, one that Norton ensured would fail. As the alert klaxons blazed, Curtis took his last breath, a smile on his face.
And then there was nothing but a final scream from the hull, and all was silent, all was black.
At last, it was over. Forever.
Starcruiser Polaris: He Never Died Page 18
