She shook her head. The Tokomak had banned a lot of things, without bothering to explain their reasoning. Some of them made sense, she supposed; others appeared to have been banned without a valid reason. And still others appeared thoroughly pointless. She had no idea why they’d put a ban on interspecies relationships. It wasn’t as if they’d had to bother.
The air suddenly felt tense as she reached for the helmet. If she put it on, if she allowed her implants to make contact with the datanet, she would be bound to the LinkShip for the rest of her life. She wouldn't be able to leave, not without breaking the connection. The scientists had sworn blind that there would be a way, eventually, to freeze the ship’s mentality to give her some downtime, but for the moment she was committing herself to remain on the ship permanently. Hameeda had no qualms about living on a starship - and she had no particular interest in returning to the carefree days of her youth - yet she knew it was one hell of a commitment. She would practically be a prisoner ...
A prisoner with a starship and freedom to fly, she thought. She’d be a naval officer for decades, of course, but afterwards ... she’d be free. I wonder where I’ll go.
She took a long breath, then pulled the helmet over her head. Her implants activated a second later, providing the datacores with a string of coded identifications that even she found hard to follow. She was dimly aware of classified systems steadily coming online, each one checking and rechecking the codes before slotting itself into the datanet. The sheer immensity of the LinkShip scared her, despite all her preparation. She’d put herself en rapport with an AI two weeks ago, but that had been different. She hadn't been trying to bond with that AI.
The datanet came to life. “Are you ready to proceed?”
Hameeda blinked, surprised despite herself. It was talking ... of course it was talking. Even a very basic system, a restricted intelligence, had simple conversational overlays, linked to a self-learning system that allowed it to evolve as it went along. She’d heard of RIs that had somehow managed to bootstrap themselves into true AIs, despite their programming. The old fogies had found that more than a little alarming, but Hameeda and her generation rather approved. Their creations had started to evolve.
“Yes,” she said. She made it as clear as she could. “Proceed.”
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. She had a moment to wonder if something had gone wrong, either with the technology or the command codes, before her mind was suddenly linked to something much greater. Her thoughts expanded with terrifying speed, reaching out to merge with the LinkShip’s datanet. She was suddenly very aware of everything from the drives, slowly readying themselves to push the LinkShip out of the hangar and into open space, to the weapons systems, currently powered down but ready for immediate activation if she had to go to war. She was linked to the ship ... no, she was the ship. It was practically her body.
Wow, she thought, as a torrent of data poured into her brain. The ship’s sensors were sucking in data from all over the station. She could see everything. The images were so sharp that she could even see a handful of warships holding position outside the station, watching and waiting. She felt a stab of bitter annoyance as she remembered why those starships were there. The naysayers had insisted, pointing out that the LinkShip might go insane. And they were wrong.
She powered up the drives slowly, watching as power ran through the tiny starship. It really was a miracle of science. She’d known that all along, of course, but she hadn't really understood it until she’d actually touched the datanet. They’d miniaturised all sorts of systems in order to cram them into her hull, despite the risk. Warning icons flashed up in her mind as she checked the self-repair functions, pointing out their limitations. The naysayers had had a point about them, she reflected ruefully. A single hit might well be enough to cripple the LinkShip beyond repair.
Then we will have to be sure not to be hit, she thought, as she accessed the hangar datanet and opened the hatch. Luckily, we’re the fastest thing in space.
The LinkShip practically lunged forward as she gunned the drive, throwing itself into the inky darkness of space. Hameeda felt her mind split in two, one half thinking it was still human while the other half thought it was a starship. Space was both incredibly dangerous, lethal even to an enhanced human, and her natural habitat. Her mind expanded, once again: the station, the starships, a handful of test beacons ... she was suddenly very aware of their exact locations. Subroutines within her mind assessed their positions, calculated their trajectories and analysed their threat potential. She would be safe enough, her mentality concluded, as long as she kept her distance.
But they would also be safe from me, she thought, as she circled the station. She felt like a child purchasing her first in-orbit buggy. No, like a child who had moved from a buggy to a marine assault shuttle with nothing in-between. The sheer potency of the LinkShip frightened her as much as it thrilled her. I’d have to close the range if I wanted to fight them.
A voice popped into her awareness. “LinkShip Alpha, please engage the first set of beacons.”
Hameeda smiled to herself as she swung the LinkShip around, bringing the weapons online. LinkShip Alpha. She was going to have to think of a better name. Perhaps something defiant, something that fitted humanity ... or perhaps something that would make children smile, when they read her name in their history books. A subroutine went to work, considering possible names, even as she refocused her mind on her targets. The first set of beacons were not designed to be hard to hit.
Baby steps, she told herself, as she started her attack run. Her phasers jabbed out, time and time again. The beacons vanished with terrifying speed. She reminded herself, sharply, that the beacons were practically begging to be killed. The next set of targets would be a great deal harder. You have to learn to walk before you can run.
But she wanted to run. Her mind had blurred so much into the ship that she was no longer truly certain where she ended and the ship began. Indeed, her mentality had imprinted itself upon the datanet. Her lips twitched in annoyance. The Solar Union might have been reluctant to build a ship that was commanded by an AI, but it had no qualms - or at least fewer qualms - about designing a ship to draw from a human mind. There was a part of her that simply wanted to throw caution to the winds and run as fast as she could, crossing the entire solar system in a split second. But her duty held her firmly in place.
Hameeda put the thought aside for later consideration as she moved the LinkShip through its paces, systematically taking out target after target. The tests grew more complicated as she progressed, from targets that were hidden behind stealth coatings and cloaking devices to targets that actually shot back. She discovered that the LinkShip was perfectly capable of engaging targets while dodging incoming fire, although it lacked hammers and other heavy missiles. But with a little twiddling, she could turn the drive into a makeshift hammer. Who knew what would happen then?
I might get caught in the blast, she told herself. It was the sort of trick that worked in Stellar Star movies, but was completely useless in the real world. I’d have to be well away before the explosion hit.
Another voice entered her awareness as she completed the final set of tests. “Permission to come aboard?”
It took her a moment to draw her mind back to the here and now. Admiral Keith Glass wanted to board. She accessed the teleport system, synchronised with the station and yanked him onto the LinkShip, deliberately materialising him in the command centre. The process was easy, with the ship’s datanet handling the transfer, but a chill ran down her spine as she realised just how many buffers Glass’s pattern has passed through. Perhaps the old fogies were right to be concerned about teleporting. He appeared in front of her, his face darkening as he looked at her. It was harder than Hameeda had expected to disengage herself from the helmet and stand. Her legs felt wobbly. Her uniform was damp with sweat.
The datalink is still engaged, she thought. She might have disengaged from the helmet, but she was stil
l linked to the ship. I can never leave again.
“An interesting set of tests,” Glass observed. He was studying her, his eyes - older than the rest of him - clearly concerned. “How are you feeling?”
“Different,” Hameeda admitted. Her throat felt parched, despite her enhancements. She was going to have to work on taking care of her body while she was directly connected to the ship. It would probably require a whole new set of subroutines. “It’s nothing like flying a regular starship.”
“One would hope so,” Glass agreed. He was old enough to remember when the most advanced spacecraft on Earth were rockets. “How well does it - does she - stack up against enemy systems?”
“She’s very agile,” Hameeda said. “And she combines speed and hitting power with stealth. I think they’ll have some problems hitting me.”
“So the simulations say,” Glass said. “And yourself? How are you feeling?”
Hameeda took a moment to allow her intellect to roam over the entire ship before she answered. “It will be different,” she said. The LinkShip was large enough to accommodate her and a few guests - indeed, her quarters were larger than the average admiral’s quarters - but she had a feeling it wouldn't be long before the crew compartments started to feel small. “I will cope.”
Glass smiled, humourlessly. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “And so will the beancounters.”
“Until you tell them you intend to produce ten more,” Hameeda said, wryly. “They’ll throw a fit.”
She had to smile at the thought. The Solar Union could have produced ten cruisers for the cost of a single LinkShip, although she suspected that costs would be going down now the design was finalized. It wasn’t a small amount. The Solar Union was immensely rich, compared to many of the other younger races, but the cost was still notable. If the first LinkShip didn’t pay off, in everything from tactical advantages to new technology, it was unlikely a second would be built. Her ship had to be a success if she didn't want to remain unique.
“Let me worry about that,” Glass said. “Are you ready for deployment?”
Hameeda blinked. “Sir ...?”
“The war may be about to resume,” Glass said. He looked faintly meditative for a second. “I believe that an ultimatum has already been received. So far, it’s been hushed up, but that won’t last.”
“No, sir,” Hameeda said, doubtfully. On one hand, she understood the principles of operational security; on the other, she - like most of her generation - believed that governments should not be allowed to classify anything. Secrecy always led to tyranny. It was a contradiction she’d never been able to resolve. “When do you expect me to be deployed?”
“Not long,” Glass said. He clapped her on the shoulder. “You’d better start planning to be gone within a week.”
Hameeda stared. “A week?”
“It’s nowhere near long enough for a proper shakedown,” Glass said. “But tell me ... are there any problems?”
“No, sir,” Hameeda said, after a moment. “But if something makes itself apparent during the deployment ...”
“You’ll cope with it,” Glass told her. “Word is, Captain, that this time it’s serious. And we have to be ready.”
“Yes, sir,” Hameeda said. “We will be ready.”
Chapter Two
Admiral Hoshiko Sashimi Stuart forced herself to look confident as she strode into the small briefing room, her aide - Captain Yolanda Miguel - dogging her heels. Only a handful of people were waiting for her, but they were amongst the most powerful and influential people in the Solar Union. President Allen Ross, Admiral Mongo Stuart, Director Kevin Stuart and, perhaps most influential of all, Steven Stuart himself. Hoshiko’s grandfather held no formal title, not since he’d purchased a starship and set out to explore the universe, but there were millions of people who practically worshipped him. He could be President - again - if he wished, whatever the law said. Hoshiko would have been surprised if Ross hadn't been more than a little discomforted by the Founding Father’s presence.
It wasn’t a thought she liked. She’d gone to some lengths to get away from her heritage as one of the Stuarts, to the point where she’d played up the Japanese side of her ancestry as much as possible. Indeed, to be fair to the old men, they hadn’t given her or any of her relatives an unfair advantage as they climbed the ladder to command rank. Hoshiko knew better than to expect her elderly relatives to save her from the consequences of her own decisions. But, at the same time, others had given her an advantage. She’d welcomed the mission to the Martina Sector simply because it separated her from her relatives. The crews who’d been sent with her didn't care about her family or anything else, save for her competence.
And at least I proved my competence, she thought, as her implants reported a number of privacy fields coming to life. They cannot doubt me now.
“Admiral Stuart,” President Ross said. “Please, be seated. We’re quite informal here.”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Hoshiko said.
She nodded for Yolanda to take a seat beside her, then sat herself. She’d always felt an odd kinship to the other woman, even though they had little in common. Yolanda had been born on Earth and escaped to the Solar Union in her late teens, while Hoshiko was a third-generation Solarian. And yet, they both had Japanese ancestry. It mattered very little in the Solar Union, but it meant something to Hoshiko. She’d studied her family’s past purely because it was different. No one wrote detailed biographical studies of the Sashimi Family, even though Mariko Sashimi had been the original First Lady. Hoshiko had always wondered if there was a reason her grandmother had been practically written out of the history books.
The President smiled at her, although it didn’t quite touch his eyes. “Kevin?”
Kevin Stuart leaned forward. Hoshiko studied her great-uncle with interest. Like most of his generation, he’d frozen his aging at a point that made him look around forty, but his eyes looked old. He was in his second century and everyone knew it.
“We finally received the official ultimatum,” he said. “It was surprisingly short and concise for something from the Tokomak, a mere ten thousand words. Boiled down to the bare essentials, it basically tells us to surrender unconditionally or die.”
“How surprisingly practical of them,” Mongo growled.
Hoshiko nodded, shortly. It was a mystery to her how such an ossified government could survive for thousands of years without being overthrown, but the Tokomak had somehow managed to make it work. It helped, she supposed, that they had the respect of most of the other Galactics. The elder races simply didn't want to rock the boat.
“We also received an update from the Hudson picket, shortly afterwards,” Kevin added, tapping the console. A starchart appeared, hovering over the table. “The Tokomak are coming. Our most pessimistic estimate says their fleet will arrive at Sol within nine months.”
“If they keep coming, without bothering to stop,” Hoshiko said. She’d been in the navy long enough to know that deploying thousands of ships over thousands of light years required bases and service facilities. She suspected it would take the juggernaut over a year to reach its target, particularly if the Tokomak smashed the remainder of the Galactic Alliance on the way. But that wouldn’t stop their fleet from being effective when it arrived. “Do we not think they’ll take bases along the way?”
“We assume so,” Kevin said. “But we don’t know.”
“There have already been leaks,” Ross said. The President’s voice was tightly composed, but Hoshiko could hear annoyance under his words. “We need to present a plan before the debate really gets going.”
“Quite,” Steven said. “Hoshiko, I believe you have a plan?”
“Yes, sir,” Hoshiko said. She took a datachip from her pocket and slotted it into the terminal, then entered her security code. “We spent the last six months drawing up a basic contingency plan. It will not take long to update it for the current situation.”
Although we thoug
ht we’d have more time, she added silently. Whoever was running the Tokomak these days clearly didn't believe in letting the grass grow under his feet. She felt a flicker of admiration, mingled with concern. Anyone who could push the Tokomak bureaucracy into acting quickly, by their standards, was clearly a formidable opponent. The enemy is already breathing down our necks.
A new starchart, covered with tactical icons, appeared in front of them. “There are three gravity point chains that can be used to deploy a fleet from Tokomak itself to Sol,” she said, without preamble. “Based on the report from Hudson, I’d say they were planning to use the Apsidal Chain, a string of nine gravity points that literally cut years off the transit time. This gives us an opportunity to take the fight to them.”
“They might be using the other two chains as well,” Ross pointed out.
“They might,” Hoshiko agreed, “but they would be very aware of the dangers of trying to make such a plan work, to say nothing of the damage to their economy if they block transit through all three chains. I’d be very surprised if they weren’t sealing off the Apsidal Chain as they move down it. They have to be aware that we had ships at Hudson.”
The Long-Range War Page 2
