by David Weber
And the only possible candidate for such generosity was Haven.
The problem was that three weeks was far too short a time for the Republic to have heard about the battle and sent help. If one of the ships was Havenite, it had to have already been here when the battle began.
Maybe that was why Gensonne had lost in the first place?
“Sir, General Haus is signaling,” Katura said into his musings. “He urgently recommends that we withdraw with all haste.”
“I’m not surprised,” Llyn growled.
And of course he was right. At this immediate moment, who owned which ships in the Manticore System was irrelevant. What was relevant was that Llyn’s force had just gone from probably superior to outclassed as hell.
The trick was going to be figuring out how to make a graceful and plausible withdrawal without looking like they were cutting and running. The Manticorans were surely already at least moderately suspicious of his unexpected arrival. A panicky reaction could only hone that suspicion, and if it rose to even fifty percent certainty, Locatelli would probably send everything they had against him.
And if the Manticoran did that, Llyn’s ships couldn’t possibly kill their velocity and begin building an escape vector before the Manticorans brought them into decisive range. Which meant—
The display updated again as the new battlecruisers’ transponder codes finally caught up with the appearance of their wedges. HMS Invincible, HMS Nike, and HMS Swiftsure.
Llyn cursed under his breath. A bunch of hayseeds in a two-for-a-credit excuse for a star nation, and out in the middle of nowhere to boot. There was no way someone like that should have been able to give a professional merc group this kind of drubbing.
That was what really frosted him, he realized. In fact, it bothered him more than the fact that he was very probably going to die in the next hour or two. It was infuriating to have been so effortlessly played for a fool by a star nation full of provincials who hadn’t even known he was coming.
Or maybe they had known he and the Barcans were on their way. If they’d not only beat Gensonne but captured him, he’d spill his guts in a skinny minute if it might save his own neck.
But it didn’t matter what they’d known. What mattered was that they’d played him perfectly. They’d delayed any response while he steadily built his velocity in-system and got farther and farther from any handy escape back across the limit. Then they’d shown him only Eigen’s force to demonstrate how badly they’d been weakened against Gensonne.
And now he knew why their acceleration had been so low. They’d had no intention of building enough velocity to make it impossible for the battlecruisers hiding in orbit to rendezvous with Eigen before actually opening fire. But now that Eigen had him sucked too far into the trap to escape, the admiral was openly decelerating to kill his own velocity in order to hasten that rendezvous.
After which, the combined force would go back to the full hundred and sixty gravities the newcomers were showing and run down Llyn’s ships—even the Barcan cruisers—well short of the limit.
At least they wouldn’t be throwing any modern weaponry at him. But that was cold and thin consolation. Ancient missiles, especially in the numbers a quartet of battlecruisers could throw, would be more than enough to do the job.
Llyn had faced dicey solutions in his time, but there’d always been a way out. This time…
“Sir!” Katura said sharply.
“What?” Llyn snapped.
“Sir, Banshee’s detected a hyper footprint just outside the limit. Captain Vaagen’s tracking three new impeller wedges.” Pacemaker’s captain cursed quietly. “At least one of them appears to be another battlecruiser.”
Another battlecruiser? Pure molten fury poured through Llyn’s veins. So all five RMN battlecruisers had survived? Had Gensonne even bothered to show up at this battle?
And the sudden appearance of yet another Manticoran squadron astern of him was almost more disturbing than the fact that they’d taken so little damage from the Volsungs. He knew—he knew—they couldn’t have prearranged this perfect a mousetrap. No one could have. Yet there the fresh threat was, its icons burning brightly as Pacemaker’s plot updated itself. However these bastards had managed to pull it off, Llyn’s defeat was total, and there was nothing he could do about it.
And then, still seven minutes from the turnover point where he would have no choice but to continue all the way to Manticore orbit, Locatelli handed him the solution on a silver platter.
“Count Bloch, this is Admiral Locatelli,” the system commander’s voice said from the com. “It would appear we’ve both been guilty of a certain degree of misunderstanding. As I’m sure our documentation will demonstrate, we have no connection with the pirates who’ve been operating in Barca’s vicinity. On the other hand, and while we don’t wish to offend even our more distant neighbors, we’ve had some unfortunate experiences of late here in the Star Kingdom and we aren’t really interested in hosting a foreign task force right now. I must therefore respectfully request that your battle force leave Manticoran space.
“I realize that until you’ve examined our evidence, you have no reason to simply take our word for our innocence. I think we can both agree that until and unless both sides can be convinced of the other’s bona fides, it might be wiser to avoid any potential incidents which could arise out of continued misunderstanding. Accordingly, I’ve instructed Admiral Eigen to begin decelerating to remain outside his engagement envelope of your command. I’ve also transmitted orders to Admiral Flannery, commanding the squadron astern of you, to plot a course to Manticore which will keep him outside missile range of your force as you withdraw.” The Manticoran admiral’s expression hardened. “I have, however, been instructed by my Sovereign that if you choose not to withdraw, His Majesty’s decision not to regard you as hostile units will have to be reconsidered.”
Llyn treated himself to a deep, unobtrusive breath of relief.
So they hadn’t beaten any information out of Gensonne after all. They were actually prepared to believe Barca truly had come calling on a pirate-hunting expedition.
“On the other hand, we have no objection to you and a one-ship escort continuing on to Manticore,” Locatelli continued. “It would give us a chance to compare notes on our respective battles. With proper analysis, we might be able to determine whether they were the same force, two parts of the same group, or totally independent.”
Right, Llyn thought with black humor. When hell freezes over, defrosts, and freezes over again.
He inclined his head, fighting to conceal his relief. It was harder than usual this time.
“All units reverse acceleration,” he ordered Katura. He noted the matching relief on his captain’s face, then punched the transmit key on his com panel again.
“I’m sure you’ll understand that the Grand Duke would consider it a breach of my duty to offer myself as a potential hostage to a star nation we have yet to clear of collaboration with pirates,” he said. “Perhaps after we’ve analyzed the data you’ve provided we’ll be able to allay the Grand Duke’s suspicions and can resume this conversation at a later date.” A sudden thought occurred to him. “If you could also provide your data from battle you mentioned,” he added, “it would surely speed up that process. Regardless, since we’re currently unwelcome, we will of course take our leave.”
Another six minutes passed, interminable minutes during which Admiral Eigen continued to decelerate towards Manticore and the three battlecruisers still approaching from planetary orbit. Pacemaker and her consorts continued forward as well, covering another four and a third million kilometers. But their velocity dropped by almost 300 KPS in the same interval, their momentum taking them to a point ninety-eight and a half million kilometers from Manticore orbit. Assuming the Manticorans didn’t change their minds about engaging the intruders, in another four hours they would come to a zero-zero point still fourteen million kilometers out from the planet and could be back across th
e limit in less than six.
Assuming, again, that the Manticorans didn’t change their minds.
It was almost a shock when Locatelli’s voice suddenly boomed again from the com.
“I’m sure the data would be useful to you,” the admiral said. “However, since we ourselves have only barely finished our first-pass analysis, I’m sure you understand in turn that we can’t yet release it to anyone outside the Star Kingdom. Regardless, have a safe voyage home, and we look forward to comparing notes more completely at some future date.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Llyn promised. “For His Highness, the Grand Duke of Barca, I bid you farewell.”
He keyed off the com.
“Any other instructions, Sir?” Katura asked.
“I think not, Captain,” Llyn said. “It’s over now.”
CHAPTER SIX
“Status change, Captain,” Travis announced beside Lisa, his voice clearly audible through the disciplined calm of Damocles’ bridge. “Barca Alpha’s reversed acceleration.”
“CIC?” Marcello called toward the intercom.
“Vector change confirmed, Captain,” CIC replied. “Barca Alpha reversed on a reciprocal heading at eighty gravities two minutes ago at…mark.”
Lisa breathed a silent sigh. She’d had every expectation that Travis’s trick would work. But life and war were the province of uncertainty, and it was always a relief when theory and reality lined up.
“Bridge, Engineering,” Papadakis’s voice came. “Shall we ease back on the impellers, Sir?”
“Let’s hold them where they are a little longer,” Marcello said.
“Sir, if Barca Alpha’s leaving, we really shouldn’t strain the nodes any more than we have to,” Papadakis persisted. “Every minute we hold them at this level takes at least ten minutes off their designed lifetime.”
“I agree—if they’re really leaving,” Marcello said. “I’d like to be sure of that before I reduce the load. I might point out that System Command also hasn’t authorized us to stand down yet. Shouldn’t be more than another couple of hours,” he added reassuringly.
“Aye, aye, Sir,” Papadakis replied after a moment. If he was outraged, nervous, or concerned about the captain’s decision, Lisa couldn’t hear it in his voice.
“But I think we can at least secure from battle stations,” Marcello added. “XO, set Condition Two throughout the ship.”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” Shiflett said, and Lisa heard her own quiet relief in the other woman’s voice. Damocles’s officers and crew were as brave and dedicated as anyone in the Navy, but going into combat in a half-crippled ship wasn’t anyone’s idea of a fun time.
* * *
Pacemaker and the other ships had finally killed their velocity towards Manticore and begun accelerating towards the safety of the hyper-limit almost six and a half hours ago. At the moment, the range between Pacemaker and Manticore had climbed back up to over thirty-one million kilometers, her velocity towards the limit was over seven thousand KPS, and the squadron which had arrived behind them—the transponder code of HMS Victory burning brightly in its midst—had indeed shaped a course to keep it outside missile range.
So far, so good.
Llyn had continued to keep a close watch on the Manticoran ships, however, wondering if Locatelli might decide at the last minute to insist the unannounced visitors come down for tea and crumpets, or whatever Kings did on little back-world planets like this.
But Vanguard and its escorts had continued decelerating until their own velocity relative to the planet had fallen to zero, and the other three battlecruisers had reduced their own acceleration to make rendezvous with Eigen at that point. Then they’d simply sat there, reducing their wedge strength to standby levels, waiting while Victory maneuvered to join them and keeping a watchful eye on Llyn’s ships. The rats had been chased off, and the terriers were apparently content with that.
Llyn hoped the terriers were pleased with their small victory. It was very probably the only one they would ever have.
They were three hours and nearly a hundred forty-five million kilometers from the limit, and Llyn had just started to relax, when the whole thing again went sideways.
Bizarrely sideways.
“What kind of transmissions are we talking about?” he demanded.
“Standard com laser,” Captain Vaagen’s tense voice came from the speaker. “Semi-burst, centered on Manticore; we’re only catching the edge of it because we’re still so far from the source. It appears to be encrypted, with a system we’ve never seen before. We don’t have it on file, anyway.”
“Of course we don’t have it on file,” Llyn said with strained patience. “This is Manticore, not the League. Can you decrypt it?”
“We’re trying. So far, the computer hasn’t even found a base pattern.”
“Frankly, I don’t know what they could be transmitting, Mr. Llyn,” captain Rhamas put in. “Whatever’s sending, it’s not running any active sensors—we’d have picked those up on the way in. At this distance, I don’t know what it can be reading.”
“Well, it’s reading something,” Llyn countered, glaring at the icon which had appeared on the main plot. Rhamas was right, of course. In theory, something that far away and using only passive sensors shouldn’t have a hope of seeing much besides his ships’ impeller wedges.
But if that was all it had, why was it suddenly transmitting encrypted data toward Manticore?
Better safe than sorry, assuming it wasn’t already too late.
“Prepare to pitch wedge,” he ordered. “All ships. Pitch just enough to—”
“Pitch wedge?” Rhamas put in incredulously. “Sir, that’ll add—”
“Just enough to block that satellite’s line of sight down the throats of our wedges,” Llyn cut them off. “Yes, it’ll add some time to our exit. So what? The Manticorans aren’t even trying to follow us. In fact, this thing’s probably the reason Victory’s been so damned obliging about swinging wide of us. It didn’t need to maneuver to look down our throats; it could count on this thing to do it instead.” He scowled at the display. “Whatever they’re learning—or think they’re learning—I want it to stop.”
“Yes, Sir,” Katura said briskly. “Computing pitch…transmitting order to Barcan ships.”
“Execute as soon as you have acknowledgments.”
“Yes sir. Executing…now.”
Llyn watched the icons on the display shift positions. Pacemaker’s projected vector tilted upward by just under forty degrees. It wasn’t all that much, but whatever the damn satellite had been looking at, it wasn’t looking anymore.
“And the new course will add…looks like just under two hours and forty-five minutes,” Katura added.
“Good enough,” Llyn said. He glowered at the icon marking the spot from which the transmission had come. “And make a good sweep of the area in front of us. If there are more of those damn satellites in our way, I want to know about it.”
* * *
“Sir?” Chief Ulvestad called tentatively from the com station. “We’re getting something strange from NAVSAT HL-22B. Or, rather, from something right beside HL-22B.”
“Strange how? Marcello asked. “And what do you mean ‘something right beside’?”
“Well, it’s not from the satellite itself, Sir,” Ulvestad replied. “It’s still transmitting its standard beacon.”
“Confirmed, Sir,” Lisa said, checking the tactical display. “And the Chief’s right—this is definitely coming from something else. And whatever it is, it’s within no more than a couple of thousand kilometers of HL-22B.”
“Could it be one of the old NAVSATs?” Commander Shiflett suggested. “That’s the only thing I can think of that might be floating around out there. For that matter, it’s the only thing that would be allowed within ten thousand klicks of any platform in the constellation.”
“So what exactly is this transmission, Chief?”
“I don’t know, Sir. It’s…we
ll, it’s gibberish.”
“And we’re sure it’s from something inside the constellation? Not from Barca Alpha?”
“Definitely not, Sir,” Lisa said firmly, waving one hand at the master tactical display. “It’s a good two degrees off their current heading and coming from a lot farther out.”
“Could they have commandeered one of the satellites somehow?”
“Why would they do that?” Lisa asked, frowning as Travis pulled up the feed at her elbow. Both of them studied it, then looked at one another with matching frowns. Ulvestad was right; the computer was having no luck deciphering the data flow.
“Maybe it’s a message to someone on Manticore,” Travis suggested darkly. “Something they don’t want to be associated directly with.”
“Get this to System Command right away,” Marcello decided. “Someone in crypto should be able to figure out what it is.”
* * *
“Interesting,” Admiral Locatelli said from the main screen.
Edward looked up from the update that had just appeared on his own display.
“Are they coming back?” he asked.
“No, Your Majesty, they’re still leaving,” Cazenestro said. “They’ve just made an odd vector change, about forty degrees above the ecliptic.”
Edward frowned at the big tactical display, feeling himself changing mental hats. For a moment, he was a Navy officer again, sifting through drummed-in memories of simulations, immersed in the details of impellers, weapons, and maneuvers, trying to read every nuance of the enemy’s every twitch and grunt…
“If they’re avoiding something, I’m damned if I can see what it is,” Locatelli said. “There’s nothing out there except the navsats.”
“No, there isn’t,” Edward agreed. “Well, keep an eye on them, Admiral. And please signal my thanks and commendation to everyone involved. They caught us well and truly on the wrong foot, but our people did a magnificent job. Be sure they know I realize that. I’ll be telling them myself sometime very soon.”
