And, inevitably, some got through.
“Brace for impact,” the tactical officer shouted. His voice was automatically relayed through the entire station. “All hands, brace for impact...”
The entire station shuddered as four missiles slammed into the shields. Compressed antimatter was the most dangerous substance known to man. Huge explosions flared against the shields, burning out several shield generators and allowing the fires to rend the fortress’s hull. Marius hung on for dear life as red icons flared on the display, warning of terrible damage. One red icon caught his eye—the containment systems had failed—and by all rights everyone on the station should be dead right now. Marius wasn’t sure how they’d survived such a terrible hit, to be honest; if they’d been carrying antimatter warheads, the entire station would have been vaporized when the containment systems failed. Unlike a nuclear warhead, antimatter didn’t need a complex triggering mechanism. Simply lowering the containment field sufficed.
“Report,” he barked. Apart from the shockwave, there shouldn’t be any damage to the station’s armoured core. “How badly are we hurt?”
“Major damage to outer sections,” the sensor officer reported. Blood streamed from a cut on his forehead. “We’ve lost most of our weapons, sir, but structural integrity is reasonably stable.”
Marius glanced at the report flashing up in front of him and shook his head. “And the enemy?”
“Shifting their fire to EDS6,” the tactical officer reported. “They must think we’re dead.”
“Or not worth bothering about,” Marius said. Even if the enemy destroyed the station’s weapons, her inner core would survive and would be worth rebuilding, even if they had to reconstruct the remainder of the station later. “Send a general signal to all stations. I want a focus barrage; every station in range is to launch a mass strike against the enemy. We have to show them that we’re not dead yet.”
He scowled as the system display flickered back into existence. The sensors were faithfully reporting the presence of Home Fleet’s drones at the edge of the mass limit; the enemy, of course, would be tracking them already. If they were fooled, they’d either push their advantage against Earth, or break off the engagement. If not...they’d probably break off the engagement. Only a fool would accept battle against a superior force if there was an alternative.
And we have to keep them focused on us, he added, in the privacy of his own thoughts. If they’re focused on us, they’re not thinking about other threats.
“Sir, the enemy ships are adjusting their position,” the sensor officer reported. Marius nodded. It was too soon to tell what they were doing, apart from altering their formation, perhaps to provide additional point defense from the undamaged smaller ships. Or perhaps...
“They’re breaking off,” the tactical officer said in disbelief. Marius ran through the tactical situation in his head and knew the truth. The enemy commander had seen Home Fleet approaching, despite the cloaking devices, and decided to cut and run before he found himself trapped against Earth. “Sir...?”
Fallon turned to look at him. “Admiral Drake, we could launch the starfighters, perhaps give chase...”
Marius considered as Home Fleet decloaked and went to maximum acceleration. The crews would be pushing their ships to the limit, but even so, it wouldn’t suffice to catch the retreating enemy ships. The starfighters could slow the enemy ships down, perhaps cripple a few of them, yet even the fighter jocks couldn’t maintain such a tempo for long. Besides, unless Home Fleet’s carriers got into range, the fighters would wind up operating outside their effective range and end up running out of life support.
But it would drive the enemy away, and give them time. Which wasn’t altogether a bad thing… still, he wanted to kill them now, while he still could. Perhaps there was still a way to do that?
“Launch one strike,” he ordered. If they were lucky, they’d cripple a ship the Marines could seize, which would at least tell them who to blame. “Order Home Fleet to screen the departing force, but not to attempt to bring them to battle unless the situation changes.”
He shook his head, dismissing the unspoken concerns. “Launch SAR gunboats and shuttles—call others from Earth or Luna if necessary—and start picking up stranded pilots,” he ordered. “Shift the main defense command function to EDS12, then have the engineering teams start work on the fortress and...”
Marius broke off and laughed at their confused expressions. “All of this is mop-up work,” he explained kindly. “Necessary, yes, and we will do it. But we also need to remember that we’re alive, we intend to stay that way… and we beat back the enemy.”
The crew of EDS3 still looked confused.
“We won,” he said. Did they really not understand this? None of them had been tested in combat before, so perhaps they didn’t. But they’d performed well, even Fallon, and Drake would say so in his report. “Enjoy it. We soundly kicked their arse!”
Chapter Six
As the old saying goes; Victory has a thousand fathers, but Defeat is an orphan.
-An Irreverent Guide to the Federation, 4000 A.D.
Earth-Luna Sphere, Sol System, 4092
“Now hear this,” the intercom blared. “The emergency is now over; I say again, the emergency is now over. Luna Academy will stand down from alert status.”
Roman looked up as the airlock clicked open, allowing them to leave the Safe Lock. For the first hour of the emergency—whatever it was—he’d tried to review his class notes, but afterwards he’d just tried to sleep. There came a time, always, when further cramming was not only useless, but actually harmful. The cadets didn’t need to memorize information—not with the memory implants provided by Luna Academy—and cramming was a sign of panic.
A message flickered into his implant, and he read it, quickly. All fifth-year cadets were to report at once to the Assembly Hall. The polite wording of the message didn’t quite disguise the fact that it was an order in all but name. No cadet with an inch of common sense would disregard the message, or choose to ignore it.
Besides, Roman could count the number of emergency drills—let alone emergencies—that had taken place at Luna Academy on the fingers of one hand. What could they want with him and the other cadets now? Could things have gone so badly that they were needed?
No, that couldn’t be it. The proctors probably just wanted to debrief the cadets before they returned to their studies...no, there were no longer any studies. Professor Kratman’s class had been the last prior to their exams.
He felt a familiar quiver in his chest as he contemplated the coming ordeal. Passing their exams would be difficult enough, but he’d sworn to himself that he would try for a First—a First, a perfect score on the exams and simulations that made up the final tests -- as it would set him on the path for rapid promotion. All Luna Academy graduates were commissioned as lieutenants once they graduated from the Academy, but there was no guarantee the Navy would send them anywhere exciting. A First would give him a certain degree of choice when it came to his initial posting.
Or would they be sent out into service—out to war—without taking the exams? The thought was attractive—and terrifying. What if they were going straight to war?
He was still mulling it over when he walked into the Assembly Hall. Years ago when he’d been a first-year cadet, he had spent hours here learning how to fit into the Navy. And, after he and Raistlin had gone at each other, they had both been disciplined in the Assembly Hall. It was astonishing how much humiliation could be crammed into simply having their misdeeds read in public, before being assigned to scrub toilets with toothbrushes. Now, the only time they saw the Assembly Hall was when they were mustered for inspection or when they listened to a guest lecturer. Some of the talks were interesting, touching on matters that were rarely covered at the Academy, while some were boring and tedious.
As he looked around, he realized that the hall hadn’t been so crowded in years. Every fourth- and fifth-year cadet had been
summoned. He caught sight of a few of his classmates and headed over to join them.
“Attention on deck!”
Roman stiffened automatically as the proctor called them to attention. A moment later, he caught sight of Commandant Leon Singh as the commander emerged from the side of the room and moved briskly to the stage. He had never seen the Commandant socially—cadets usually only saw the Commandant if they were about to be expelled from the Academy—and there were no shortages of rumors flying around about him, much less the small knife he wore at his belt. Singh apparently had special dispensation to wear the knife and turban along with his small, neatly-trimmed beard. Like most of the staff, Singh’s file was closed to the prying eyes of students.
“At ease,” the Commandant said flatly. His Federation Standard was neat and precise, but there was a hint of another accent behind his words. “For those of you who haven’t figured it out”—his tone made it clear that he hoped that no cadet that stupid had survived the brutal winnowing of the Academy to date—”the Solar System was attacked. As yet, we do not know by whom, or why. We do know that you—the fifth-years, at least—will be graduating as soon as possible and will be going to war.”
Roman swallowed. Death was a RockRat’s constant companion, one that could strike at any moment. The fragile environments RockRats created in asteroids could be destroyed easily, through carelessness, while it was also easy for enemy ships to blow them apart. He’d known from his earliest days that a single mistake could kill him and his family, yet...he’d never truly faced the prospect of his own mortality. Now...he was going to war?
The prospect left him feeling unprepared, unready. It was tempting to believe that the war would be over before the exams were completed—providing they were even going to hold the exams at all, of course—and he officially graduated, but he knew that that was folly. Whatever had attacked the Federation, whoever they were, probably wasn’t willing to give up that easily.
Suddenly, his worries over whether he would take a First or not seemed trivial.
“Barring unforeseen circumstances, exams will be held as planned, a week from today,” the Commandant continued.
Roman and the other cadets remained silent, but he could tell that a few of them were excited, perhaps hoping they’d not have to sit exams after all. Luna Academy’s exams were brutal.
“I suggest that you all familiarize yourself with the rules and regulations for the exams—don’t just load them into your implant—and follow them to the letter,” Commandant Singh continued. “Ignorance will not be considered an acceptable excuse. Those of you who do have acceptable excuses must have them on file for the Academy Committee in three days. I shouldn’t have to tell you that failing to register any special excuse on time will result in it being disallowed.”
His gaze swept over the assembled cadets. “These exams will determine your future as officers in the Federation Navy. The culmination of five years of work and study is about to begin. Are there any questions?”
A fourth-year Roman barely knew stuck up his hand. “Sir,” he said, when the Commandant acknowledged him, “why are we holding the exams at all under these circumstances?”
A low rustle ran around the chamber, but the Commandant seemed unbothered by the question.
“You are too inexperienced to be called up at once, ideally,” he said, simply. “Besides, we need to show that this attack will not force us to panic and change our schedules.”
Roman wasn’t sure he believed the answer, but he held his tongue.
“Good luck,” the Commandant said. “You are free to approach your tutors should you require help, but don’t waste their time. Dismissed!”
The cadets saluted and headed for the doors. Roman joined them, heading towards Professor Kratman’s study. The professor was the only person he knew who’d fought a battle and survived. And he might know just what had actually happened during the battle over Earth...
* * *
In Admiral Marius Drake’s opinion, the Grand Senate Hall was nothing less than a testament to the wealth and power of the Federation. One thousand boxes, each holding a single Senator, were assembled in the massive room, allowing the President to see and recognize anyone who wanted to speak. The boxes were decorated with the red and gold of the Federation’s emblem and the flags of the planets they represented, allowing each Senator to be instantly recognizable. The media, which was ensconced today in the Stranger’s Gallery, far above the Senators, would be able to record everything. Only Earth and Luna could watch live as the Senators pontificated for the benefit of their voters, but no Senator could resist the thought of such a large audience.
Marius sighed. There was far too much work to be done in orbit, but the Grand Senate had insisted he attend the speech—and assigned him to a seat just underneath the President’s box. It was a position of honor, he’d been told, and yet he would have preferred more time to rebuild Earth’s tattered defenses. Who knew when the next attack would begin?
He stood as President David Yang entered to the strains of the Federation’s anthem. The President, elected by Federation-wide popular vote, had almost no power, but he was the public face of the Federation. Yang—a tall, handsome man with short dark hair and faintly Oriental features—had been elected two years ago, and was midway through his current term. If Yang knew that he was nothing more than a figurehead, it wasn’t apparent on his face. But as Marius knew full well, in times of crisis the Head of State had to appear to be in control. The reality of the situation was nowhere near as important, under the circumstances.
“Be seated,” the President said, his words echoing around the chamber. The original designers had ensured that everyone could hear everything said inside the chamber. “A grave crisis is upon us.”
There was a long pause.
“Less than a day ago, the planet Earth was attacked,” Yang informed the Senators. “An atomic weapon was deployed on the surface of Earth, destroying Navy Headquarters and almost decapitating the system defense force. At the same time, a second weapon was used to destroy an orbital fortress, crippling our orbital defenses. After that, an enemy fleet entered the system; not from beyond the Rim, not from an alien species intent on overthrowing our rightful dominance of the galaxy, but from one of our own admirals!”
The crowd remained silent, which was puzzling. Normally, political speeches and press conferences were loud affairs, with questions being shouted from all directions. But now the room was silent.
Then the President leaned forward, his eyes glittering ominously.
“It is my sad duty to report to the Senate—and the Federation at large—that Admiral Justinian has risen in revolt against us,” Yang continued. “Worse yet, his ships came within a hair’s breadth of occupying Earth!”
This time, there was an outpouring of anger from the Senators and even from the media. Someone in the command room must have neutralized the sound barriers, allowing everyone to be heard. The thunderous response threatened to shake the room to its foundations.
Marius watched as Senators, both Conservative and Socialist, shouted their anger and rage. Admiral Justinian’s allies were in grave danger. Glancing around the Senate Hall, he wondered how many of them were in the room, barely aware of the hammer that was about to fall. The smart ones would have boarded their private starships and fled.
But was it really Justinian?
The evidence suggested as much. Home Fleet, as Drake had expected, hadn’t been able to run down the remainder of the enemy fleet, but they had scored a bit of success when the starfighters had caught an enemy cruiser by taking out its drive units. The Marines had stormed the ship—a freak hit had taken out the self-destruct—and managed to take some of the crew alive. Their interrogation hadn’t been gentle, but it had been informative. And it had concluded that Admiral Justinian, Commanding Officer of the Seventh Fleet, was in open rebellion against the Federation.
That wasn’t good news.
Admiral Justinian was known
for being a careful tactician and strategist—and, of course, he’d had the sense to back off when it was clear he was losing. Marius had never met Justinian in person—their paths had never converged—but Justinian had a sound reputation throughout the Navy. And yet he’d risen up against the Federation, against the Grand Senate and the Federation Navy. Why?
I’ll have to find out, Marius thought, darkly. He could imagine several reasons, from outright lust for power to a genuine belief that a military government was the only answer to the Federation’s problems. And why were his subordinates following him? What had he promised them? The battle for hearts and minds had only just begun.
“We will not allow this rebellion to go unpunished,” the President thundered, once the noise had dimmed to a dull roar. “We will assemble a fleet to hunt down and destroy the treacherous Justinian, along with anyone who knew of his treachery and supported him in it. We will hunt him down like a dog! His allies on Earth, the traitors who aided him to slip his weapons within the walls of our fortress, will be exposed and killed. We will not allow him to scare us into craven surrender.”
Marius wondered just what the President was going on about. No one had yet mentioned surrender, or even compromising with Justinian, but Marius saw several problems with hunting Justinian down and destroying him. Considering Justinian had risked the attack on Earth in the first place, Seventh Fleet must be completely under his control, or he would never have dared mount the attack for fear of being knifed in the back. And that meant that the Federation Navy would have to break Seventh Fleet, which would require an enormous commitment of firepower...and they were assuming Justinian and his men were all they had to fight.
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