The Stars Now Unclaimed

by Drew Williams

  “I was counting on that,” I told him, almost managing a smile. “Let’s get back to Sanctum, get resupplied. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

  CHAPTER 11

  We descended past the exchange of fire between the dreadnaughts and the anti-orbital cannons on the planet’s surface; even the main gun at Sanctum herself had fully emerged now, rising up out of the mountain instead of being half-hidden in its silo, which meant there would soon be at least one dreadnaught in firing position over the city itself.

  I ran a quick count, across Schaz’s scans: we’d knocked out seven of the Pax dreadnaughts so far, and had battered three more enough that they’d retreated out of the cannons’ targeting spread, all but conceding the use of their main guns, instead acting as protective shields for their fighters, the same way the frigates had shielded our retreat inside the envelope of their firing solutions. The Pax were still arriving in-system, however, dreadnaughts, fighters, and frigates popping into view on the scans—they had nineteen of the supercraft on course for orbit so far, weathering the pounding of the still-firing lunar guns on their way to rain death against the shields above Sanctum, Alpha, and Bravo.

  We slipped through the envelope of Sanctum’s shield, and touched down on one of the airfields jutting from the side of the mountain that had been cleared and set up for quick repairs. The rest of the Justified fighters were doing the same, our engineers absolutely swarming over them as soon as they landed, trying to get our fighters back into the fray as soon as possible.

  “Get out, stretch your legs,” I told Esa. “We’ll be here ten minutes, at least.”

  “Don’t leave me behind,” she warned me, standing from her chair.

  “Don’t worry. I’m up for a little perambulation myself.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to do the same.”

  I did, heading out down Schaz’s ramp to get some fresh air, but I also brought up Sanctum’s internal communication network in my HUD. “John Henry, get me Seamus,” I said around a cigarette. Better than fresh air any day.

  Despite the fact that I’m sure he was just as swarmed-under with responsibilities as anyone else in the city, the chief of staff of the Justified came on the line in less than a minute. “You’ve got a plan to get our people out of the lunar guns,” he said; it wasn’t a question. Seamus had always been a quick thinker, and an observant one, as well. I wasn’t one of his people, but he still made sure he knew all of the operatives of the Justified, knew how we thought.

  “Bolivar and I have stealth systems,” I said. “If we can reach the guns undetected—”

  “You might be undetected getting there, but once you get close, they will spot you, and they will cut you down,” he warned.

  “I know. I’m counting on that. If we can get there safely, surprise them, we can do some real damage to the ground troops, then lead the fighters on a merry chase. They’ll be resupplying at the moment as well—the Pax are stupid, but they’re not that stupid. You’ve got gunships here on Sanctum; not many, but a few. Strip everything out of them, down to the chairs. Stick a single pilot in each one, send them the long way ’round, up over the pole. While we distract the Pax, you can get the gun crews out.”

  “They’ll be on our tails as soon as my pilots dust off from the guns. If you and Bolivar can’t return to cover our retreat, it’ll be a slaughter, only it’ll cost us gunships and the gunnery crews, not just the crews.”

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t a risk.”

  “No,” he sighed. “You didn’t. Criat?”

  I hadn’t realized he’d brought my boss onto the line as well. “Do it,” the old Wulf said shortly, the words a low growl. “Get them out of there.”

  “Yes, sir,” I acknowledged. “Let me know when the gunships are ready to launch.”

  “They’ll be ready sooner than your Scheherazade is repaired,” Seamus promised me. “Good luck, Kamali. You’ll need it.”

  “Thank you.” I looked to the side; Javier had joined me at the railing of the landing platform, but he wasn’t looking at the vista of crystal mountains sweeping toward the horizon—a horizon where, far beyond the curve of the moon, desperate gun crews were fighting off a Pax assault, still firing on the dreadnaughts emerging from hyperspace. He was looking at me instead.

  “I volunteered you for a suicide mission,” I told him. “Sorry.” I seemed to say that a good deal.

  He grinned back. “Don’t be. Life as a smuggler was never nearly exciting enough for me. Pirates and tyrants and tin-pot warlords on pulse-soaked worlds can’t possibly compare to this. We’re not—”

  “There will be no need for dramatics.” Great. Helliot was on my comm now; apparently she’d been informed of my little plan. I could almost feel her tentacles waving dismissively in my direction. “You won’t be launching your operation, operative. You can rejoin the fight over the planetary guns as soon as your ship is ready.”

  “Why the hell not?” I tried to keep myself from shouting at her, but it didn’t quite work.

  “Very simply, it’s a waste of resources,” she replied. “Removing the gunnery crews will only let the Pax take those positions sooner, and after we win—and we will win—we’ll have to risk more people clearing them out. Just because we destroy the dreadnaughts doesn’t mean the Pax stuck in-system will just go away. The math simply doesn’t work.”

  “Those are our people, Helliot—”

  “Councillor Helliot—”

  “Those are Justified up there. Fighting, dying, for this cause.”

  “As you will, as I will, if it comes to that. They knew what might happen when they agreed to operate those guns.”

  With a touch of the comm bud under my ear, I flagged Seamus and Criat back into the conversation, hoping they had still been listening in. “You don’t have the authority to—”

  “I do, actually. As a member of the council, I have exactly the authority I need to—”

  “You don’t, actually.” Seamus, who apparently was still on the line. I wondered if he’d been expecting this. Like I’d said before: Seamus knew politics. “Those gunships, and their pilots, fall under my jurisdiction as head of security. You don’t get a say in—”

  “Then I’ll call it to a vote,” Helliot snapped. “I have Bathus’s proxy—he’s busy doing actual work on our defenses, not arguing over doomed romantic foolishness. He stands with me.”

  “As do I, unfortunately.” Acheron, the Barious leader of the research initiative, had joined the conversation as well. Apparently most of the council was listening in; I would have felt honored, except, well, I didn’t. “Helliot is right—the odds simply are not in our favor, either to succeed, or as a measure of risk. We need those guns to fire for as long as possible if any of us are going to survive.”

  “The gunnery crews can set them to auto-fire before they evacuate,” I objected. “They won’t be as accurate, but John Henry can still aim them, and he’ll be aiming at dreadnaughts: pretty big damned targets. He won’t miss.”

  “Every round counts,” Acheron replied. “Sentient operatives fire more accurately, yes, but they also fire faster than slaved AI.” Of course the Barious made a distinction between her own race, and the more recent inventions like John Henry. “We cannot cede the guns early. I’m sorry, I am, but it is the only way we will win.”

  “Acheron’s right. But so is Seamus.” Aoka, the head of Marus’s faction, was the new speaker, the spymaster playing both sides again toward whatever outcome he viewed as best. “I cede the field to those who see a clear advantage to either side; I abstain my vote.” Or not. I really should learn not to try and predict what that particular Vyriat would do in any given situation.

  “Come on, boss!” Marus, now, joined in, begging Aoka to reverse his position. “We have to—”

  “We have to do everything we can to survive,” Aoka replied firmly. “It’s a net loss either way. I abstain.”

  “Which means the tiebreaking vote falls to MelWill,” Cri
at said. “She’ll be joining us momentarily—”

  “I’m here now,” the Reint engineering leader—the legend in our midst according to most of the people at Sanctum, including myself, a genius in every sense of the word—broke into the conversation. She only carried one vote, but her voice meant more than that. “The men and women manning those guns are from my teams, my engineers. Kamali: get them out.”

  Helliot hissed, and cut communications. I closed my eyes and banged my head against a nearby wall. Yes, we’d gotten what we wanted, but it had still taken longer than it damn well should have. “I forgot how much I missed this place,” Javier said cheerily. “Don’t hurt yourself. At least we get to go.” He paused, frowned. “Hooray,” he added mildly, remembering what going would entail.

  “We may need Helliot’s support later, and Bathus, and especially Acheron.” Marus sighed as he spoke. “We should not be divided at a time like this.”

  “Democracy, man.” Javier just shook his head.

  “We’re going,” I said, pushing thoughts of diabolical revenge on Helliot out of my mind. “The repairs to Bolivar and Schaz should be almost done. Everybody get ready.” I frowned, scanning the platform. “Where’s Esa?”

  “Already back inside,” Marus told me dryly. “Once she heard someone say the word ‘suicide run,’ I think she decided to strap herself into her chair rather than risk you trying to leave her behind.”

  Since that had been exactly what I was planning to do, I sighed. Fine, her choice. “Get back on board,” I told them all. “I’ll see you back here—and the gunnery crews as well.”

  CHAPTER 12

  I was almost to Scheherazade’s ramp when the whole world shook, and I meant that almost literally. A sonic reverberation strong enough to rattle my teeth swept across the landing platform, making the very mountains quake—I could see a landslide in the distance as crystals shattered and a bright bloom of light spread across the sky. I knew what it was, but I couldn’t help myself: I looked up anyway.

  It had been the cannon in the heart of the mountain, firing. There was a dreadnaught inside its firing solution, slowly maneuvering into place over Sanctum. It wasn’t quite in position, high up, barely visible from down here, but the fact that I could see it at all meant that sooner rather than later—its return fire struck back at us, streaking down toward the city. The blast hit the shield high up in the atmosphere, at the apogee of the invisible barrier, spreading fire in waves through the sky. The Pax’s attack on Sanctum itself had begun.

  “That particular dreadnaught won’t hold for much longer,” Marus said, reading scans from his HUD. “It’s still being targeted by both planetary guns.” As we watched, there was another bloom of light, up where the dreadnaught hovered like a smaller moon; it wasn’t from Sanctum’s gun—that was still cooling—so it must have come from one of the planetary emplacements.

  “Yeah, but if it made it this far, it means that others won’t be far behind,” I replied. “Come on. We need to—”

  There was a tug at my elbow. I turned, surprised; JackDoes, the little Reint who had messed with Scheherazade’s voice before we went out the last time, was standing behind me. “Hello,” he said, grinning toothily at me.

  I frowned at him. “Whatever this is, JackDoes, I don’t have—”

  He held up his scaly hands. “No prank, no joke. This is not the time for . . .fun. I came to tell you that I have delivered a package, to Scheherazade. A . . . thank you. From MelWill. For going after the gunnery crews.”

  My eyes narrowed some more. “What package?” I asked.

  “Specially designed code booster; experimental, very hard to produce, required . . . strange compounds, black-magic coding. MelWill has been saving it—says it came to her in a dream. Wanted me to give it to Scheherazade. Said it will . . . help. It has already been installed.”

  I sighed. “Fine. Thank you.” Was now really the time for this? Granted, anything that might give us an edge in the upcoming fight would be useful, but anything that changed how Schaz reacted—or how I thought she would react—might be a net loss, even if it allowed her to process faster.

  “Stay alive.” JackDoes grinned at me. “I have plans for new improvements to Scheherazade. Think you will like.”

  I pointed at him. “Don’t mess with my ship’s voice again,” I told him.

  “All sorts of improvements. Think you will like.” It was as though he didn’t even listen. “Good luck. Stay safe. Rescue my friends.”

  I nodded, and headed up Schaz’s ramp. Bolivar was already lifting off; I slid past Esa to take my seat in the cockpit. “We ready to go?” I asked Schaz.

  “Oh, yeah, we’re ready,” she affirmed, something strange about her already-strange voice. “We’re more than ready, we can take all of them . . . all of them on, I mean, we’re good to go, let’s do this.”

  “Schaz?” I asked, even as I lifted us off from the landing platform. “What exactly did MelWill give you?”

  “Improvements to my pathways, clarification of my processes, overclock in cycles. It’s bleeding into my personality matrix, ever so slightly.” The words came tumbling out of her speakers like she’d forgotten when to pause during a sentence. “A human analog might be . . . a drug. A performance-enhancing drug.”

  “She gave you AI steroids.”

  “. . . Possibly something closer to a stimulant. Don’t worry—it should improve my combat capabilities by at least ten percent.”

  “And the effect on your personality matrix?”

  “To continue the metaphor, I believe, if I was human, you might describe me as ‘high as a motherfuckering kite.’ I feel great.”

  “. . . Terrific.”

  CHAPTER 13

  I matched Scheherazade up with Bolivar in formation, and both ships activated their stealth drives. We’d be running close by the Pax forces, close enough that they might be able to spy us anyway, but now that the dreadnaughts were beginning to arrive over Sanctum the fighting had spread everywhere, a ribbon of conflict stretching between the moon and the planet below. Every ship Sanctum had was either scrambling toward the dogfights that stretched over both the moon and the planet below, or diving back to the city for repairs and to rearm. Hopefully there was enough going on that the Pax wouldn’t have time to investigate what little scans they got off of two stealth-masked craft.

  That also meant that we were unable to join the fighting, and just had to watch as we passed by the terrible ballet of dancing craft and twisting fire. The third Pax carrier had arrived, disgorging another massive wave of fighters, and their forces divided out, some to attack the Justified craft still in the sky, some to bombard the planetary guns, some to dive toward Sanctum itself.

  The scale was almost overwhelming—the scrum of fighters, and beyond that, the heavier, slower exchanges between the frigates, trying to maneuver into positions where they could both defend the smaller craft on their side, and also exchange fire with their equally vast counterparts. And above even that hung the dreadnaughts, still weathering terrible blows from the anti-orbital guns, and in turn raining fire down on both the planetary emplacements and Sanctum itself.

  Everywhere we turned there was another exchange of fire, another explosion; debris was being tossed into the void to join the detritus of whatever fight had emptied this system centuries ago. I aimed us at the constant storm front of the razor rain that divided the habitable sliver of the moon from the boiling seas and frozen wastes beyond; if we hugged the tops of the crystal clouds, our stealth drives should keep us damned near completely invisible.

  “Schaz?” I asked.

  “Yep. I’m here. I am so here.”

  “How long can Sanctum’s shield hold up against the current Pax assault?” Beneath us, the roiling storm was like a lake of fog, a fog through which I could barely make out the whirlwind of constantly spinning razors.

  “With just one dreadnaught in place,” Schaz replied, “the exchange of fire could go on for hours, maybe even over a day,
even factoring in the bombing runs from the fighters. Every moment that passes, however, means more dreadnaughts maneuver into position over Sanctum. Add in their attacks, and the effect is more than an addition of forces, it’s exponential, given that the cycling of Sanctum’s shields means the more often it is struck, the less time it has to rejuvenate its power from the—”

  “So we’ve got a few hours, at least.”

  “My calculations suggest that statement will remain correct until there are six dreadnaughts in orbit, firing in waves. At that point, we will have less than two. Hours, that is.”

  “How soon will that happen?”

  “Difficult to calculate. Too many different factors, the added unreliability and virtuosity of the sentient species at the controls of the guns impossible to take into account. A few well-placed shots from our side could cripple the dreadnaught already in position, pushing the Pax’s timetable back even further; a few poorly timed shots from our gunners could allow their supercraft to get into position faster than we—”

  “Worst-case scenario.”

  “Sanctum has four hours to live.”

  “Got it.”

  I followed Bolivar; now that we were past the storms, Javier was keeping him low, hugging the surface of the boiling seas. We swept around the curvature of the world until we passed out of the sunlit zone and into the frozen wastes beyond, hopping over the second storm front and making for the besieged gunnery positions. I opened up the encrypted comm line. “Seamus,” I asked. “How soon will your gunships be into position?”

  “They’re about halfway around the moon, taking the polar route to avoid the storms,” he replied. “How far are you from hitting the Pax?”

  “Five minutes, maybe less.”

  “That should work almost perfectly. Draw off as many of them as you can. Remember, there are three different emplacements for us to evacuate. We have enough gunships to reach them all, but they won’t be able to approach until you’ve drawn off some of the assaulting Pax. That means you’ll have to decide where to focus your fire, and that will mean—”