Only the Brave

by Richard Tongue

   “Overestimated?” Lotsawa replied. “Surely...”

   “They’ve had to pull in their patrols, their convoys, in order to launch this attack. Meaning that they’ve only got one chance to pull this off, and that they’ve had to expose themselves to preemptive strikes from our forces. If they’d managed to keep their strike a secret, it would have worked, but with the situation as it now stands, we have one last chance to stop them. To force the Guild to the negotiating table.”

   Raising an eyebrow, Kozlov said, “Surely the only approach is to fortify Zemlya, to bring everything in to meet the enemy forces inside our orbital defense perimeter. It will be costly, but there might be some chance to defeat them, or at least to do sufficient damage to prevent their invasion. Do we know how many enemy ships we’re dealing with?”

   “Not from our source,” Kirkland replied. “Though they had at least twenty ships on escort duty close enough to matter. We can assume they’ll be bringing an invasion force along for the ride as well, likely large ships.” Turning to Kozlov, she added, “Ten thousand troops, perhaps. Enough to secure key facilities on the surface, and force the submission of your population.”

   “It could easily be more like thirty,” Flynn added. “I agree with the Captain’s assessment. If they’ve pulled this many ships out of the line, then we can inflict a blow that they cannot recover from easily or quickly. There are still lawless parts of their frontier where they are forced to maintain ships. They might be able to pull out reserves for a short time, but no more than that. Not without taking greater risks elsewhere.”

   “There’s something else, as well,” Benedetti added. “The Guild isn’t really a monolithic organization, even if we’ve been treating it that way. They’ve got different warring factions, just like any government. Some wanting war, others hoping for simple economic hegemony. Right now I’m guessing the hawks are in the ascendancy, but a real victory, now, might make all the difference.”

   “You said yourself, Captain, that we cannot defeat the enemy fleet here,” Lotsawa said. “I can appreciate the potential strategic advantages of fighting in a time and place of your own choosing, perhaps, but I cannot imagine that such advantages will compensate for the loss of an orbital defense network. How, then, do you propose we win this major victory?”

   “Simple,” Forrest said, a smile on her face. “Anyone here ever seen a bullfight?” Only Garcia nodded, and she continued, “A tradition from Old Earth. A raging bull is placed in a ring with a volunteer, armed with a red robe that can be used to goad him. The bullfighter uses the robe to wear out the bull, sending it charging around the ring without being struck himself, to finally kill the bull when it is exhausted.”

   “Barbarous,” Lotsawa replied.

   “I don’t disagree, Commander, but the metaphor still works. We’re the bullfighter, and the enemy fleet is the bull. As for the robe, well, they’ve left a lot of installations and facilities undefended in order to put together their force. Meaning that they are vulnerable to attack, if we move immediately.”

   “There are only so many targets we can strike, Captain,” Lotsawa replied. “Especially within the time allotted.”

   “I agree, Commander, which is why we will not be operating as a fleet. Each ship will attack a target of its own, one designed to cause the greatest possible economic damage to the Guild, then return here, to Zemlya, once it has completed its attack.” All eyes widened as she continued, “We can only win a victory if we convince the enemy that defeating us will be too expensive for their economy to bear. With facilities and defenses stripped to the bone, we will cause damage far greater than we might otherwise have inflicted. This isn’t about convoy raiding, but the destruction of enemy stations and facilities.”

   “Our hope is that the trading faction within the Guild will force the hawks to return their fleet to its normal defensive duties. Or at least a portion of it, sufficient to give us a chance of victory. Perhaps to cause enough damage to give the peacemakers the edge, bring them to the bargaining table.”

   “And if we’re wrong?” Kozlov asked. “If they haven’t stripped their defenses?”

   “Then we abort the mission and head home.” Looking around the room, Forrest continued, “I don’t deny that there are considerable risks involved in this operation, Major, but we’re trading a risk for a certainty at this stage. If the enemy fleet turns up here, we lose. Potentially the whole war. Even if we concentrate every ship we might conceivably have access to. They’re trying to draw us into a major battle, to win the war at a single strike. We have to deflect their blow before it can land.”

   “This is a big gamble, Captain,” Garcia replied. “But I’m with you.”

   “Same here,” Volkov added. “Am I taking fighters again?”

   “Commander Flynn will accompany you, just as before,” Forrest replied. “With a bomber this time, to give you an additional punch. All of your attack plans have been transmitted to your ships. The fleet departs in an hour, and all being well, I’ll see you all back at Zemlya in thirty-six. Good hunting, and dismissed.” As the officers rose, she added, “Commander Flynn, if you could wait for a moment?” Forrest made her way around the table to sit next to Flynn as the others left the room, and slid a datapad across to him.

   “There’s another reason I’m sending you off with Major Volkov, Commander.”

   “I’m not going to like this, am I.”

   “Probably not,” she replied. “Nevertheless. In the event Lincoln doesn’t make it back in time for the party, this promotes you to full Commander and assigns command of whatever is left of the fleet to you. General Markova’s signed off on it, and I understand she’s offered you a commission as well.”

   He frowned, nodded, and said, “Yes, ma’am, she has.”

   Taking a deep breath, she replied, “I’m not going to tell you what to do, Commander, and I can’t give you any specific orders in the event this goes wrong. Follow your instincts, use your judgment, and find a way to win. Whatever it takes. There are millions of people counting on us to get this right. I’m counting on you to pull this off, should Lincoln fail.”

   “That’s a pretty hot seat you’re leaving for me, Captain,” he replied. “If the worst happens, ma’am, I’ll do my best. You have my word on that.”

   “That’s good enough for me, Commander. Hopefully it won’t come to that.” Rising from her chair, she said, “Good luck, Jack.”

   “And to you, Captain,” he replied. “And to you.”

  Chapter 4

   Romano woke with a splitting headache, lying on a cold metal floor. Overhead, a fan slowly turned, lazily churning the fetid air around the room. He looked around, the room bare and empty, aside from a pair of dull beige pouches in the corner, labeled as PacFed MREs. Struggling to his feet, he walked over to the nearest, tearing it open and tipping the contents onto the floor. There was a spigot on the wall, and he made himself a bitter lemon energy drink, downing the sour mixture in a trio of quick gulps.

   He was hungry, much to his surprise. Dumping a pouch of something he assumed was the main course into the heater, he poured more water inside and placed it carefully on the floor, steam already rising into the air, and started to look around his prison. It was no different to the cells on Lincoln, no obvious way in or out, only a seamless door in the wall, a hidden monitor somewhere on the ceiling to track his movements.

   Methodically, he walked around the room, his hands feeling the cold metal walls in a bid to find some hidden weak spot, something he could use to his advantage. After too few moments, he’d completed his sweep, and as he had feared, found nothing. He sat down with his back to the wall, shoveling rice and prawns into his mouth from the pouch, his tongue stinging from both the heat and the spices.

   As he finished, the door slid open, and a tall woman stood at the threshold, a rifle pointed square at his chest. He looked behind her, a pair of shadows in the corridor
beyond the door, and wiping his hands on his trousers, he rose to his feet again, looking her square in the face.

   “Sorry,” he said. “If I’d known I was going to have company, I’d have saved you some.”

   She stepped forward, and replied, “You are Lieutenant Frank Romano, an officer of the United States Starship Abraham Lincoln. Your message to your ship was intercepted, and you have been most informative thus far. Our hypnotic interrogators are very reliable.”

   “I’m glad to be of service,” he said, “Though I can’t have given you any information you don’t have already. Your traitors will have given you all sorts of tactical data, and the only intelligence I possessed that was up to date related to your own people. Which you will already have guessed I sent to my ship.”

   Glancing to the rear, the guard replied, “Under other circumstances, I would almost admire your stoic attitude, Lieutenant. Have you no interest in the fate of your comrade?”

   “He died quickly, and he died a hero,” Romano said. “I presume my end will be rather more uncomfortable than that.”

   “Lieutenant Tanaka is not dead.” Reaching into a pocket, she pulled out a silver rod, and said, “A pain stick. It uses sonics. You can’t die. You just want to. A useful tool.”

   “If you’ve already gathered all the information you want from my mind while I was unconscious, there doesn’t seem very much point in subjecting me to torture. Unless I’ve fallen into the hands of a sadist.”

   “There are those who would inflict this upon you anyway, Lieutenant,” she said. “I am not one of them. Not unless I am given good reason to do so. We use them here as a punishment tool, nothing more.” Taking a step back, she said, “I’m going to give you a choice. Work or die. It’s as simple as that. You’re never going to see your ship again. Our fleet will be engaging yours in a matter of days, and we have every confidence that we shall be victorious. You don’t have a chance.”

   “If you truly thought that,” Romano replied with a smile, “Then you wouldn’t be telling yourself that at every opportunity. We’re going to beat you, and your actions today will be critical in determining your eventual fate.” He paused, then added, “I’m curious. What is it like to work for a brutal, fascist, corporate state with no chance of freedom? You’re as much a prisoner as I am. You just have a somewhat larger cell.”

   “We can discuss philosophy at another time, Lieutenant. The choice remains the same. You can work, or you can die.”

   “I’m surprised that you’re giving me the choice. Surely...”

   “Given the nature of the work, you’ll have every chance to commit suicide. I’d rather skip over that. Disruptive, wastes time. If you choose to end your existence, I’ll guarantee that you are given an easy path to the next world. Otherwise, well, while there’s life, there’s hope. Perhaps one day you will earn your freedom. Perhaps your ship will defy the odds and find a way to rescue you.”

   “Maybe the horse will sing.”

   “What?”

   “Old proverb. Very, very old.” He paused, then asked, “What sort of work are we talking about, exactly?”

   “You’re in no position to bargain,” a harsh voice barked from the corridor. “Take it that your skills are suited to the work, and be very grateful that is the case.”

   “No,” the first guard said. “I think we might as well show you, Lieutenant. You’ll know soon enough, in any case.” She stepped back into the corridor, gesturing for him to follow. “Rest assured that you have no chance whatsoever of escaping. This facility is efficiently run. You wouldn’t take ten paces before we gunned you down. All of my team are excellent shots.”

   “Then what are you doing stuck out here in the middle of nowhere?”

   “Earning a percentage of the profits,” the harsh-voice guard said. “Enough to set us all up for life, after a few years. I’ll be retired on a resort world while you’re still stuck out here sucking gas, kid. You remember that.”

   The first guard turned sharply to the other, and said, “That’s provisional at best, Narik. One word from me and you’re on your way to a zero station, watching convicts shovel liquid nitrogen around. Don’t think I won’t do it.” Looking back at Romano, she added, “Discipline is essential, is it not? The chain of command must be maintained at all times.”

   “Oh, I couldn’t agree with you more,” Romano replied. “Though for the record, if I choose to accept the option of slavery, I will do everything in my power to attempt to escape. That is my first duty as a prisoner-of-war.”

   “I would expect nothing less, Lieutenant. I won’t even tell you not to waste your time, as I understand that you are unlikely to listen to me. I will simply state that there is no way in or out of this facility, and that we are light-years from a civilized world. Nor is there anywhere to go in this system.” She stepped forward, tapping a control on the wall. A panel slid past, and the room was bathed in violet light, Romano’s eyes rapt with attention as he scanned the awesome sight beyond.

   A brown dwarf, a cold one, barely a star at all, its surface an endless raging turmoil of gravitational distortion, plumes of gas reaching up into the cold void beyond. The station raced above it, slowly spinning through the sky, long antenna reaching down towards the star. He glanced to the right, spotting a pair of docking pylons with strange, ungainly ships nestled along them.

   “Gas collectors,” the guard said. “That star puts off a lot of rare elements, valuable beyond measure, and the star is cold enough that a ship can get in close to collect them. You simply skim in low enough, open the scoops, and gather what you need.”

   “What’s the catch?” Romano asked. “Why use slave labor?”

   “Mascons. The star’s sick, dying, with a black hole at its heart that slowly spins around. Our best scientists have been unable to predict its path, and it means that local gravity is in flux. The station’s kept high enough to stay well clear of the trouble, though even we need to be boosted on occasion. The ships go a lot lower. Well down towards the star.”

   “They’re built to be pretty damned cheap,” gruff voice said. “No unnecessary frills. Why would we waste money on that sort of thing. Not when I’ve got a retirement villa to pay for.”

   “I’ve got to say,” Romano replied, “you’re really going out of your way to convince me to go for that. I must admit to being surprised that you’d let a prisoner loose with a spaceship.”

   “First of all, a guard accompanies each ride,” the first guard said. “Second, you’ve only got enough fuel to go from the station to the surface and back again. No more than that. And third, there’s an orbital defense network that would shoot down any ship that somehow managed to beat their way through. Trust me, Lieutenant. We’ve thought of everything.”

   “Except the motivation for the pilot to take any risks for your benefit,” Romano said.

   Cracking a smile, the first guard replied, “I presume you’ve been through basic training, Lieutenant, so you are aware of a trick used on recruits. If someone screws up, a whole unit is punished. You’ll be assigned to a dormitory with no surveillance equipment, no guards. Just you and a dozen others, most of whom will be working on more menial tasks. If you fail to reach your quota, they lose out as a result. I think we can rely on them to motivate you to greater performance.”

   “That,” harsh voice added, “and you get more luxuries. Better medical care, better rations, time in the dream booth. Privileges that can be rescinded as rapidly as they are granted.”

   “Though you don’t care about either of those things,” the first guard said, turning to him with a smile on her face. “You’ll work for two reasons. First because you like a challenge, and flying a spaceship through the coronosphere of a brown dwarf with a fluctuating gravitational field is one of the greatest challenges for a pilot I can think of, and second because you will continue to seek a way to escape, and you’ll figure that staying at the helm of
a ship will be to your advantage.”

   “What about Tanaka?” Romano asked. “He’s a fighter pilot. And ought to beat me at the helm every day of the week and twice on Sundays.”

   “You will be working together. Trading off between flying and flight engineering duties. We think it best to expand the knowledge base, and flying under those circumstances is taxing in the extreme. As long as you alternate roles, we’re willing to let you handle the ship yourselves. There will be a maintenance crew as well, drawn from your dormitory, working the pumps below decks, but you need not concern yourselves with those.”

   Turning to her, Romano said, “The casualty rate?”

   “Nineteen percent.”

   Raising an eyebrow, he replied, “The gases you’re collecting must be extremely lucrative. I can’t imagine that you find many volunteers among the guards for such duty.”

   “Theoretically, there is an escape system, which the guard always remains close to,” gruff voice replied. “In the event of prisoner unrest, the ship is expendable. We’ve done that before on occasion. Don’t worry, Lieutenant, we value our lives far more highly than we do yours. I think we can afford to make that perfectly clear.” He grinned a toothy smile at him, and said, “Take the other option. Really, feel free.”

   “Though we’d rather you didn’t.” The first guard looked out at the star, and said, “Survive thirty trips, and you are assigned to an Earth-like world. To duties which take you out of immediate supervision. Farming perhaps, or forestry. The nearest you will ever get to a retirement.”

   “Just out of purely academic interest, has anyone ever made it to this paradise?”

   “There’s a first time for everything. Care to break the jinx?”

   “More than a jinx,” he replied, looking at the star. “You want me to try and tame the beast. I suppose I don’t have a choice, do I?”