Defenders

by TR Cameron

  St. John stepped back, glaring into Cross’s eyes, before he turned and walked away without another word. Cross, too, found himself incapable of speech.

  His wrist comm vibrated against the decking, and he picked it up from the floor where it had been laying in relative safety. “Good that these are working again,” he said. “What do you need?”

  Kate’s voice was tinny, suggesting that the comms weren’t yet fully functional. “We’re ready to tunnel out of the sector. Permission to do so?”

  “Stand by until I get up there. I’ll see you in ten.”

  Cross strode onto the bridge dressed in a fresh uniform. Kate rose from the center chair, surrendering it and the conn to him. He sat down and turned to her. “Do you imagine that they’ll be sending those tracker ships through here after us?”

  “They’re likely already on their way.”

  “Are all of our people out of the wormhole?”

  Kate reached down to check her display and nodded. “Everyone is here and accounted for.”

  Cross grinned. “I’m really glad to hear that.” He turned forward in his chair again and said, “Casco, open a channel to the captain of the Caracas.”

  Moments later he got the go-ahead from his communication officer. “Captain, since we’re finished using this wormhole for the time being, perhaps we should leave some presents for the aliens if they try to follow us through it.”

  “What did you have in mind, Cross?”

  “A few torpedoes with enhanced sensor packages to detect friendly transponders, set to attack anything that doesn’t have one?”

  “I like the way you think. Can you make it happen?”

  Cross looked at Kate, who was already nodding to his unspoken question.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Excellent. Do it. See you back at the starbase, Commander Cross.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  An hour later, the Washington was the last to leave the sector. The idea had traveled through the ship, and the crew enjoyed the thought of getting a little payback against the specialty ships that had cost them another starbase. They completed the torpedo modifications in record time. Soft puffs of air ejected them from the tubes, and vacuum-suited technicians guided them into place near the wormhole entrance.

  Once everyone was back on board, the Washington blurred into unreality. Cross was very much looking forward to the quiet safety of tunnel space.

  Chapter Nine

  UAL Starbase 12 was more or less a wreck, Dima thought as he traveled through the cracked and uneven hallways. The base was built during an in-between phase, when both the League and his own Allied Asian Nations were experimenting with new designs and production methods. This base drew from local resources of stone and metal to make construction more efficient and cost effective.

  The experiment worked no better for the Union than for the AAN, it seemed. Their own version of Starbase 12 had long since been abandoned and was now an automated rearm and refuel depot with no inhabitants. The UAL could take a lesson from that, he thought.

  Dima followed the directions provided by his wrist comm and entered the bar. A blast of noise and raucous activity welcomed him. Cross must have picked the most annoying location on the base to meet. As his eyes adjusted, he realized it was a rather elegant space, given the decrepitude of the station. Polished stone was offset with comfortable-looking cushions, occasional wood trims, abundant gleaming metal, and what looked like a fully stocked liquor collection.

  A loud whistle cut through the cacophony, and his attention narrowed to the table where the two commanders and the chief engineer of the Washington awaited him. Dima was in off-duty clothes, simple blacks, so as not to agitate Union personnel. Nonetheless, his perfect posture set him apart as he traversed the crowd, deftly weaving among intoxicated sailors. When he reached the group, he was greeted with firm handshakes from Cross and Jannik and a surprising hug from Kate. In this light, her pale complexion and shining red mane combined to make him envy the young Anderson Cross.

  Small talk took up the first hour, seasoned with food, drink, and comfortable companionship. They shared tales—catching up on each other’s activities since their last gathering. The AAN had faced no additional aggression from the aliens, but was keeping a careful watch.

  “I’m sorry that we couldn’t intervene in your last battle,” Dima said. “By the time we realized how far the Xroeshyn had advanced, it was already over.”

  Cross waved the comment away. “There’s nothing anyone could’ve done. More ships wouldn’t have changed the outcome. We were outmaneuvered, and the only option was to retreat.”

  Dima nodded, having been in that situation more than once. “I’ve heard,” he said in a tentative voice, “that the personnel loss from the starbase was almost total.”

  The three Union officers each displayed their own emotions as they confirmed his information: Jannik sad, Cross angry, and Kate stoic and closed.

  Again, the conversation turned, this time to more positive things. As the talk flowed, Dima sensed agitation from Cross. When the opportunity arose, he stood and walked over to the gameboard, ubiquitous in military bars, and gave Cross a look of challenge. He nodded acceptance. Dima placed the pieces and offered, “First move is yours.”

  Cross opened with a conservative gambit, and the next several moves were standard practice. Dima asked, “How is command suiting you, Anderson?”

  He scowled. “It’s certainly not all I thought it would be, that’s for sure.” He moved a piece with more force than necessary, knocking over a second. Cross sighed and set his troops upright again.

  When his gaze lifted from the board, Dima nodded. “It never is as glorious as it seems.” He took a deep drink of the whiskey and waved to order another round. “I, too, have had those days where the burdens of command are more numerous than the stars.”

  Cross's eyes lowered, concealing what lay behind them. “I accept that there’s a chain of command. I accept the idea that what’s better for a majority overrides what’s better for a minority. But when the moment comes, I often choose the few over the many. It’s a clear pattern. The problem is, I’m not sure it’s a bad one.”

  “You’ve reached a difficult point in your career, Anderson.” Dima’s voice was soft and understanding, but matter-of-fact. “All ship commanders face this quandary, unless they are so well indoctrinated that to resist a command from above is unthinkable. Obviously, you and I, we are not of this type.” He laughed, and Cross added a small chuckle of his own. “A commander has to see the whole board. Encourage your subordinates, especially your executive officer, to interject when the wide view causes you to miss a detail. That’s their role. Your responsibility is now bigger than that. It’s to protect those who cannot or will not protect themselves.”

  Cross nodded, moving a piece to capture one of Dima’s. The game had moved into its middle ground, where the opponents captured pieces to clear space for attacks on their true objectives. “In my head, I understand that. In my heart, most of the time, I understand that. But sometimes it is very difficult to look at myself in the mirror, Dima.”

  Dima picked up his freshened drink and swirled it to make the ice cubes clink. “That’s why a good leader always has a bottle hidden away. We must permit ourselves time for reflection. Time to integrate experiences into our broader view, over and over and over again. Otherwise, we’ll be overwhelmed with possibilities and prevented from making the right choices at the essential moments.

  Dima moved a piece from one end of the field to the other, and Cross realized that he’d fallen into a trap. “Dammit, Dima, your obvious traps hide less obvious ones, and your less obvious ones hide even less obvious ones. Where does it end?”

  Dima laughed again. “It’s traps all the way down, my friend, until victory is achieved.” He leaned back and gave Cross a level look. “Allow me to tell you about a captain I served with. He was top of his class at the Academy. A strong, handsome officer, like in a propaganda post
er from long ago. He was righteous, followed both the letter and the spirit of the law, and never found the two in conflict. His first command was a small Corvette, patrolling the expansion frontier. He fought in several battles,” and now Dima waved his hand, as if to suggest that these things had no matter, “and earned nothing but victories against our historical foes.”

  Cross snorted softly, acknowledging Dima’s reference to Cross’s fellow officers.

  Dima resumed speaking after wetting his lips, “His next commands showed a similar pattern: constant victory, letter of the law, greater and greater responsibilities. Then the day came, as it must to all of us, when victory turned to defeat. When the ship he fought disabled his own, and the enemy captain called for his surrender. The spirit of the law teaches that these things happen, and we trade prisoners and ships with some regularity. But the letter of the law, that unbending taskmaster, was written to prohibit such civilized behavior.” Dima shook his head sadly. “For the first time, the desire to protect his crew was at odds with what regulations required. His inflexibility shattered him. I was not there to witness the event, but I am told that the loss has never left his face.”

  Dima sighed. “Fortunately, his executive officer had been with him for some time, and knew him well. When she saw her captain break, his fingers entering a code known only to ship commanders, the exec tackled him to the ground. She held him immobile until others could assist. The attempt to self-destruct the ship was thwarted, and all the forces in the sector that would have been lost that day lived on.”

  “He lives on. He’s still broken, and must be continually dissuaded from taking his own life. He was too inflexible, too confident in his ability to succeed, too…” Dima waved a hand again, unable to find the right word.

  Cross finished for him, “Too convinced he knew all there was to know, and that his instincts were infallible.”

  Dima nodded. “Exactly.”

  Cross gave a lopsided smile. “I sense you’re trying to tell me something deep and significant. It seems a crowded bar filled with young sailors performing deplorable versions of karaoke songs is an odd place to accomplish that.”

  Dima laughed, moving a piece, and said, “On the contrary. This is the best place for it. Ultimately, command is about championing life, the kind of life that surrounds us right now, and the kind of life that contents itself deep in a gravity well, never to face the challenges we do. All kinds of life.”

  Cross said, “But always with a broad view.”

  Dima offered a wry grin. “Always. Also, checkmate.”

  Cross groaned, and waved to the bartender to buy Dima another drink, top-shelf whiskey being the standing stakes. “Best two out of three?”

  Dima laughed and said, “Absolutely. But are you sure there isn't somewhere you’d rather be?” He looked pointedly over at Kate.

  Cross followed his gaze and turned back with a grin. “Kate’s got her own stuff going on. If she wants me, she’ll come and drag me away.”

  “You’re a lucky man.”

  “I know it.” He raised his glass in a toast. “To life.”

  “To life.” Dima threw back his drink. “And to the living of it.”

  Chapter Ten

  A day passed, during which Cross annoyed the repair crew and the chief engineer by checking up on repairs to the Washington. He wore a mechanic’s jumpsuit and wandered around the ship making himself useful. At least, he thought he was being useful. He was a big enough person to acknowledge that other crew members might think he was in the way, but getting his hands dirty was a fundamental need for Cross.

  He left Kate on the bridge, working on sensor records and building computer models. She was trying to identify flaws in their enhanced weaponry and determine how to eliminate them.

  Cross found a monitor and dialed up an exterior view of his ship. The port side had been scoured, and the damaged pieces were pulled free and sent for recycling. Replacement armaments, mostly salvaged from other ships, were being fitted into place. Modular pieces of armor plate awaited mounting once the weapons were installed. Jannik had told Cross that his best guess was at least five more days before the Washington would be ready. Simultaneously, major components of one engine were being swapped out under the chief engineer’s guidance.

  Cross was in the middle of removing a dented corridor panel when the summons he’d been expecting arrived. It gave him just enough time to shower, climb into a uniform, and get to the appropriate briefing room on the base.

  One hour later, wearing dress blacks, he walked into the assembly. The large auditorium was filled with tiered rows of seats and a display station in the front. Academy classrooms flashed in his mind, and he sent an image back to Kate to amuse her. Captain First Rank Dima Petryaev, whose deliberate stride and upright posture belied his age, slipped into the seat next to him. “Feels just like a classroom from when I was at the Academy,” Dima observed. Cross laughed out loud, drawing judgmental looks.

  Before he could explain, the captain of the Caracas marched up to the podium. “Captains, officers, we’re gathered today to discuss the current state of the war against the Xroeshyn. If we include the second skirmish at the starbase, approximately sixty percent of our ships involved in the last battle were lost. The starbase was destroyed. Again. And many brave sailors and Marines did not return.” He gazed up at the assembled crowd, tracking across the entire room. Cross shifted in discomfort as it swept past him.

  Aguayo looked down at his notes. “Further, we’ve learned that our experimental torpedoes cannot penetrate the defenses of the Goliath. They may prove effective against smaller ships that lack the defensive depth of that behemoth, and we’ll test that in battles to come. However, the damned thing has proven to be more mobile than expected. Expect to see it at every battle until we find a way to destroy it.”

  He raised his eyes to the crowd without lifting his head, and deadpanned, “Anyone with a suggestion, please feel free to bring it forth.” The assembled officers smiled at that, and the tension in the room eased.

  “On the plus side, we now know additional things about the enemy. First, we’ve learned about their new tracking ships. They can track us through wormholes and tunnel space. Commander Cross, the little present you left was quite effective. It destroyed both ships the Xroeshyn sent. The sensors left in the sector provided excellent video of the destruction, but also showed another pair emerge a day later. Obviously, it was too much to hope that they only had a couple.”

  “Because tunnels lack the static start and end points of a wormhole, the scientists cannot explain the tracking. However, it’s enough to know they can. Our tactics must change in response.”

  The display behind him lit up, and illustrations spooled out. “Even the four-part jump to reach here will not delay the aliens for long. I have already instructed the starbase to offload nonessential personnel. As ships are retrofitted and able to travel, they’ll depart for Starbase 11. We will abandon this sector and take another step back.” There was grumbling from the crowd, and Aguayo raised a hand to still it. “It isn’t ideal, but we have a lot of galaxy and precious few resources. We’ll trade space for time until it’s no longer viable to do so.”

  Cross nodded in agreement with the plan. He was sympathetic to those who wanted to take the battle to the enemy, but personal experience had shown they weren’t prepared for victory. Yet.

  “An algorithm will calculate multi-jumps for each ship henceforth. Four jumps will continue to be the minimum, but they’ll be computer-generated and mostly random. Some routes will be considerably longer. In some cases, ships will gather at points other than our final destinations. These efforts should delay the ability of the Xroeshyn to track us to the starbases. At the end of each tunnel, one of Commander Cross’s presents, or something similar, will await their ships.”

  A smattering of applause died quickly, but the atmosphere in the room had transformed from negative to cautiously positive.

  “Another piece of good
news, our first new ships will be combat ready in a few months. Due to the decentralized construction, we cannot predict specific dates with confidence. This is another reason we’re engaging in the space-for-time strategy.”

  Cross leaned over to Dima and whispered, “Ten to one odds that Okoye gets one of the new ships.”

  Dima shook his head. “No bet. I’d welcome seeing him again though.” Captain James Okoye was injured while in command of the Washington. Upon recovery, he was awarded admiral’s stars, and was now involved in fleet-wide matters, such as the manufacture and crewing of replacement ships for those lost to the Xroeshyn.

  “Agreed.”

  Cross tuned back into the speaker. “The biggest threat is the enemy’s new ability to evade detection grids. Previously, as enemy ships traveled from sector to sector, the passive sensor net could follow their moves. Now, once they track a ship to a promising destination, we’re at the mercy of their gravity drive. If it can get them from wherever they are, to wherever they want to go in a single hop, there will be no warning before their arrival. In response, formal patrols are discontinued. Ships will be positioned in the sectors contiguous with Starbase 11, in case we luck out and they appear there, but otherwise all forces will remain in Starbase sectors.”

  One captain raised a hand, and Aguayo pointed at him. The man stood and said, “What about the forward colonies?”

  “To be honest, Captain Calvet, that question is above both of our pay grades. However, one captain to another, there has been no sign that the Xroeshyn are interested in colonies. So far, they seem content to carve a path through our starships. We can only commit resources to endangered targets, so for the moment the plan is to focus on their starships.”