The Long-Range War

by Christopher Nuttall

  Hoshiko glanced at the status board, already knowing what she’d see. There was nothing that required her attention. Her subordinates were handling everything. They didn't need her peering over their shoulders and making unhelpful remarks. She sighed, then stood. She’d have to wear her dress uniform for the diplomatic meeting. It would probably be lost on the aliens - they paid as little attention to human dress codes as humans paid to theirs - but not on the folks back home. Someone would probably make a terrible fuss if she wasn’t dressed to the nines.

  Stupid, she thought. The aliens wouldn’t care if I was stark naked.

  “Arrange to have him teleported up in thirty minutes and escorted to the briefing room,” she said, as she turned to the hatch. “The marines are to keep a sharp eye on him.”

  “Aye, Admiral.”

  Hoshiko changed rapidly, inspected her appearance in the reflector field and walked back into the briefing room. The Galactics were stiffly formal in all diplomatic discussions - although even they had to make allowances for different species having different ideas - but she had no idea how the rebels would act. Did they have anyone trained in diplomacy? If they did, did they trust that person? Or would they be rough and crude and desperately posturing to hide their essential weakness? Hoshiko wished, suddenly, that the fleet had brought someone from the Diplomatic Corps. But the planners had insisted on having a ready-made excuse to disown any agreements she made, if they considered it necessary.

  Weasels, she thought, with a twinge of disgust. As if I’d give away Sol during the opening talks.

  The hatch opened, revealing a giant alien. Hoshiko held up one hand in the approved greeting, then nodded her head. The alien looked like a giant chicken, but somehow there was nothing amusing about its appearance. She’d met members of the avian race before, during the Druavrok War. They were a servile race, as far as the Galactics were concerned; they tended to be used as low-level bureaucrats to keep the system operating smoothly. And yet, she’d met enough of them to know they hated their masters as thoroughly as most of the other servile races. She wasn't surprised to know that one of them had been leading a rebel cell. They were very good organisers.

  And genderless, she reminded herself. They can both lay eggs and fertilise them.

  “I greet you,” she said, in careful Galactic. The hatch hissed closed as the alien advanced forward. “And I welcome you to my ship.”

  The alien’s beak opened. “I greet you,” it said. Up close, it smelt faintly rank. There was something sinister about its voice. “We thank you for your assistance in freeing our world.”

  Hoshiko nodded, but the alien wasn’t finished. “We also demand that you hand over the” - Hoshiko didn’t know the next word, but it didn’t sound pleasant - “for judgement, particularly those who are also us.”

  The ones who stayed loyal, Hoshiko thought. There had been members of the speaker’s species who’d been taken into custody, simply for staying with their masters. She wondered, idly, why they’d stayed loyal. Did they think their masters would be back on top soon? Or were they too frightened to move against them? But we gave them our protection.

  “We gave them our protection, in exchange for their surrender,” she said, putting the thought into words. “If we hadn't done that, speaker, it would have been far harder to liberate the planet.”

  The speaker’s beady eyes seemed to spin in their sockets. “They are ours to judge, particularly the traitors,” it said. “We must pass sentence on them.”

  “We have to honour the terms of surrender,” Hoshiko told him, flatly. “Now, can we discuss ...?”

  “We also demand that you evacuate them from the ring,” the speaker said, as if she hadn’t spoken. “That ring is ours.”

  “We will remove them when we can figure out a way to do it,” Hoshiko said. “Would you be willing to grant them safety on the planet’s surface?”

  “It is our world,” the speaker said. He made a loud whistling sound. “We do not want it ... contaminated.”

  Hoshiko cleared her throat. “The matter is now closed,” she said, firmly. “Are you willing to assist us in our war?”

  The alien eyed her, then twitched its beak. “Yes,” it said. “It will be a war of revenge. We will assist you in burning the monsters from the skies.”

  It looked at her, sharply. “And we demand that you turn the industries over to us at once,” it added. “They are ours.”

  “We will discuss that once you have a provisional government,” Hoshiko said. Technically, she was the legal ruler of the system. It was her fleet that controlled the high orbitals and asserted authority. But the Solar Union had no real interest in annexing Apsidal. There was nothing to be gained by trying. “You also need to think about who runs those industries and why.”

  “They are ours,” the alien repeated. “And we will fight for them.”

  “You will have to,” Hoshiko said. “The Tokomak have already dispatched a fleet to recapture Apsidal. Will you work with us to keep the system?”

  The speaker twitched, again. “Do we have a choice?”

  “No,” Hoshiko said. The provisional government might be able to declare neutrality, but she doubted it would stick. Even if its own people didn't demand that they fight, the Tokomak would be unlikely to let the murder of so many Galactics go unpunished. The best Apsidal could hope for would be orbital bombardment and they knew it. “You have to fight with us or fight alone.”

  The discussion raged backwards and forwards for nearly an hour before she could pronounce herself satisfied. It hadn't been a pleasant discussion, even though both sides had been in conceptual agreement. The speaker seemed unsure if his system had merely traded hands or if it had been truly liberated. Hoshiko didn't really blame him for being confused. Apsidal - or, rather, the gravity points - were important enough that no one would simply give them up without a fight. He’d come to the meeting expecting Hoshiko to dictate terms to him. He certainly hadn't expected her to promise to hand the gravity points over as soon as the enemy fleet was defeated.

  She watched the alien go, with the first draft of a treaty, then sat down and forced herself to relax. Matters could have gone a great deal worse. Hell, there’d been times when she had been tempted to dictate terms. But they’d found some kind of resolution ... she hoped. It helped that they had a common enemy. Afterwards ... who knew what was going to happen?

  Her wristcom bleeped. “Admiral, Commodore Yu has signalled that the first level of defences are now in place,” Yolanda said. “His crews need their rest.”

  Hoshiko laughed. The prefabricated fortresses had been designed to be put together in a hurry - and her crews had practiced, time and time again, before they left Sol - but she was still impressed they’d been put together so quickly. Commodore Yu’s men, knowing what was at stake, had worked double and even triple shifts to get it done. They would definitely need a rest.

  “Very good,” she said. The construction crews would have to be put down for medals. She’d see to it personally. “Has anything poked through from the other side?”

  “No, Admiral,” Hoshiko said. “Traffic appears to have dried up completely.”

  That will cause some problems, Hoshiko thought, wryly. The Galactic economy wasn't dependent on the Apsidal Chain, but losing control of the gravity point nexus would have to hurt. Freighters that didn’t reach their destinations on time would cause all sorts of knock-on effects. Her intelligence staff had attempted to model the likely outcome, but they’d eventually been forced to admit that there were too many variables to make any projections that were any better than guesswork. And if it does hurt the bastards, it will make them all the more determined to recover this system.

  She stood, brushing down her uniform. A faint smell hung in the air, fading slowly. She took a breath, then headed for the hatch. The recyclers would purify the air. She smiled, humourlessly, at the thought. There was a reason why multi-species starships were rare. Issues that were meaningless on planetary su
rfaces became deadly serious in confined spaces. Even the Galactics were reluctant to have members of two different species serving together.

  “Contact the LinkShip,” she ordered, as she walked back to her cabin. “I want a direct link to her captain.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” Yolanda said.

  Hoshiko wished for a shower, but she didn't have time. Instead, she sat down at her desk as soon as she entered her cabin and activated the holographic implant. The world went dark, just for a second. And then she was standing in the LinkShip. It felt almost as if she had teleported, although she was only a holographic projection. She had no more substance than a ghost.

  And walking around like this can be dangerous, she reminded herself. The holographic implant was designed to read her intentions and feed them to the hologram, but there had been times - when she’d started using the system - that she’d walked her corporal body into walls because her mind had been hundreds of miles away. Her image had been walking, but so had her body. I have to be careful.

  She turned, slowly. Hameeda was sitting in a chair, reading a physical book. A Heinlein, Hoshiko noted. Starship Troopers. There were a dozen cantons that took the book as gospel and based themselves on its teachings. She hadn't thought Hameeda came from one of them.

  “Admiral,” Hameeda said. She was wearing a black shirt and slacks, rather than her uniform. It made her look unprofessional, but at least she didn't look as if she was steadily wasting away. “Congratulations on your victory.”

  “It wouldn't have been possible without you,” Hoshiko told her. It was true. “And I have another job for you.”

  Hameeda stood. “Probing Mokpo?”

  “Yes,” Hoshiko said. “This time, though, the enemy will be on the alert. They’ll be watching for someone coming through the gravity point.”

  “I understand,” Hameeda said. She ran her hands through her uncombed hair. “But even their best sensors won’t spot me.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Hoshiko said. She’d served long enough to know that overconfidence could be disastrous. Hameeda had done well, but the defenders had had no reason to expect attack. This time, it would be different. “Good luck.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Hameeda was not about to admit it, certainly not to Admiral Stuart, but she couldn’t help feeling a flicker of trepidation as the LinkShip slowly approached the Mokpo Point. The admiral had been right about one thing, at least: this time, the Tokomak would be expecting trouble. They might not have realised quite how Apsidal had been surveyed, before the fleet burst in through the gravity point, but they’d probably know that it had been surveyed. It was very likely that they would be watching the gravity point like hawks.

  And there’s a second problem, she thought, as she opened her awareness to peer through the ship’s sensors. I might be fired upon by my own side.

  The gravity point was surrounded with automated weapons platforms, prefabricated fortresses and - keeping a slight distance back - hundreds of starships. Minefields lurked on the edge of the gravity point, waiting for someone to poke their head into the occupied system; gunboats prowled; single-shot energy and missile platforms watched for a clear shot at their enemies. The classic gravity point defence doctrine had been modified, in light of the assault pods. It was only a matter of time until the Tokomak developed assault pods and put them into mass production.

  A shiver ran down her spine. It was all too likely that one of those platforms would see her coming through the gravity point and open fire on her, before she had a chance to identify herself. And if that happened ... she shuddered at the thought. The LinkShip was tough, with far stronger shields than any regular ship her size, but it couldn't take so many hits indefinitely. If she was mistaken for an enemy ship ... she pushed the thought aside. She had to take the risk. She owed it to the men and women who’d died taking Apsidal.

  “Send the last copy of our records to Defiant,” she ordered, verbalising the command. “And then, take us forward.”

  She allowed her mind to blur into the datanet as they made their way through the minefield. This time, at least, she could use an IFF code without being immediately located and blown out of space, although she wasn't entirely confident it would work. The mines were mass-produced pieces of crap, little more than nuclear warheads with basic sensors attached. There was no guarantee that they wouldn't go after her, IFF or no IFF. She rather suspected that the minefields would be removed quickly, when the main offensive began, but it didn't matter. Their true function was to buy time for the real defenders to come to life. No military force could remain alert indefinitely, even with automated systems and AIs.

  The gravity point loomed up in front of her, barely visible even to gravimetric sensors. Her records noted that the Tokomak had been lucky. They’d found the Mokpo System first and stumbled through into Apsidal, rather than the other way round. The gravity point was too weak to be detected at a distance. They’d have to stumble across it if they hadn't found the other side first. She’d heard that the Galactics insisted that all starships had to keep their gravimetric sensors active at all times. Now, she thought she understood why.

  Here we go, Hameeda thought.

  She triggered the jump drive. The universe blinked, just long enough for her to be aware of it before the stars - different stars - snapped back into existence. Alerts flashed up in front of her, pointing to a dozen starships sitting some distance from the gravity point. They seemed to be watchful, but not at battlestations. She puzzled over their stance for a moment, then decided they were trying not to place unnecessary wear and tear on their systems. Losing Apsidal had to have been a shock, particularly as the nearest naval base was two weeks away. It was almost certain that N-Gann still didn't know what had happened.

  It’s certain, unless they invented an FTL communicator, Hameeda reminded herself. Even a fast courier boat won’t have reached N-Gann by now.

  She flinched as she sensed a handful of enemy ships heading towards her. Shuttles ... no, gunboats. They were patrolling the gravity point, their sensors sweeping constantly for trouble. Hameeda moved away, as stealthily as she could. The gunboats weren’t designed for anything more complex than patrol duties, and she knew she could wipe them out in seconds, but their big sisters would have plenty of time to power up their weapons and come after the intruder. It was an unusual tactic for the Tokomak ...

  No, it isn’t, she thought, as the pieces fell into place. That’s a deployment designed to counter assault pods.

  She felt a flicker of uneasy admiration for whoever had thought of the tactic. A cluster of assault pods, transiting the gravity point, would need a handful of seconds to re-orient themselves, pick their targets and launch their missiles. The gunboats would have time - a few seconds, but time enough for automated systems - to open fire on the pods before they could fire themselves. It was clever, for the Tokomak. They’d certainly never faced pods until two days ago and they’d already devised a countermeasure.

  Crafty bastards, she thought. That’s going to hurt us if we need to mount another gravity point assault.

  The LinkShip slipped steadily away from the gravity point, its sensors drawing in information from all over the system. Mokpo itself was a planet that would have been an industrial powerhouse, if it hadn't been unlucky enough to be right next door to Apsidal. The planet’s energy emissions were strong, suggesting a vibrant industrial base, but nowhere near as strong as she would have expected. The remainder of the system didn't seem to have been developed at all. Apsidal appeared to have claimed all of the investment for the sector - and then, probably, used political pressure to keep other worlds from rising up to challenge its dominance. It struck her as quite likely. Perhaps, just perhaps, humanity would find allies on Mokpo.

  If we win the war, she reminded herself. No one likes a loser.

  There were only two gravity points within the system, one leading to Apsidal and the other to GS-3532. The latter was so useless that neither the Tokomak nor anyo
ne else had bothered to give the system a name. It would have been completely ignored if it hadn't had a second gravity point of its own, leading further up the chain towards N-Gann. The last set of reports insisted that the second gravity point hadn't had any defences and it looked as if that hadn't changed. She couldn’t detect any fortresses - and only a pair of starships - keeping an eye on the gravity point.

  They must be assuming that we won’t be mounting any offenses up the chain, Hameeda thought, wryly. The Tokomak were probably right, although it was also possible that they simply hadn't realised they needed to fortify the system. They’d been so insistent on leaving the gravity points undefended - to keep anyone else from turning the defences against them - that they were being forced to rush to fortify the chokepoints. We might be able to take advantage of that, if we wanted to push up the chain.

  She directed a pair of subroutines to consider the possibilities as she directed the LinkShip to move away from the gravity point. It was tempting, very tempting, to poke her head into GS-3532 and see what was waiting for her there, but she knew better. Admiral Stuart was relying on her to remain alive - or, at least, to report back before she put her life on the line again. Instead, she set course towards the planet and settled down to wait. There was no point in pushing the limits just yet.