Empire & Ecolitan

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Commander, the Impies are accelerating.”

  “Stet. Understand acceleration.” He rechecked the calculations.

  He couldn’t understand why the Impies remained in formation, not with what appeared to be three giant battle vessels sweeping in toward them.

  “Maybe they don’t believe their screens,” he muttered.

  “They think we’re bluffing?” asked Analitta.

  “Less than three minutes. Then it won’t make any difference.”

  He triggered the command circuit. “Green Charlie. Green Charlie. EXECUTE GREEN CHARLIE.”

  All the Accord ships split away from the Imperial fleet at flank acceleration.

  On the representational screen, for a full minute the Imperial fleet continued down entry corridor two unopposed.

  Coming outbound on the entry corridor were three massive green EDI tracks, each track an iron-nickel asteroid propelled by a fusactor-powered drive system.

  Slowly, the Imperial ships started to spread away from the battle cruisers.

  Jimjoy wanted to scream at the Impie officers, to tell them to forget order, forget discipline, to get the hades away from the oncoming asteroids.

  The Imperials still seemed to regard the asteroids as a mere obstacle, as three corvettes and one cruiser edged leftward and the other corvettes and cruiser edged rightward—just as if the asteroids were nothing besides heavy and unwieldy lumps of metal.

  Jimjoy continued to calculate, his finger on the override.

  The figures matched—one minute and thirty standard seconds before the automatic triggers.

  Jimjoy jammed the override. “Full shutters! Full shutters!”

  Just before the shutters activated, Jimjoy could see a handful of dashed torp lines leaving one of the Imperial battle cruisers—not toward the Accord forces, but in-system.

  “Hades…” He wished he knew their targets, not that it mattered now. From the distance they had been launched, the torps couldn’t affect an atmosphered planet. Thalos Station, and the outspace research facilities, were another matter. He doubted the Impies had data on any locations except Thalos. He wiped his forehead, hoping Imri had completed evacuations of the vulnerable sections of the station.

  Inside the Adams, all the displays showing exterior inputs went blank.

  The Commander of the forces of the Coordinate of Accord wiped his forehead.

  Gilman looked over at Jimjoy, then looked away.

  “Permission to unshutter, Commander.”

  “Wait one, Captain.”

  “Standing by.”

  Jimjoy refigured the energy paths. “Clear to unshutter, Captain.”

  “Shutters down.”

  The representational screen displayed hundreds of objects where the Imperial fleet had been. All but two were clearly fragments of the three asteroids that had carried city busters in their centers.

  The two remaining Imperial ships were both corvettes, both apparently shielded by the bulk of one of the battle cruisers. The screens of one were in the amber. The other looked untouched on the screen.

  “Imperial ships, this is Greenpax control. Request your immediate surrender. Request your immediate surrender.”

  Jimjoy noted that the Fitzreld’s screens were also amber, another casualty, and two more needleboats were missing.

  If they could get the two corvettes, that would be some help in rebuilding. He triggered the transmission on the Imperial frequency again. “Imperial ships, this is Greenpax control. Request your immediate surrender.”

  “Greenpax control, this is Suleden. Dropping screens this time. Dropping screens this time. Would appreciate medical assistance.”

  Jimjoy noted the corvette with the ailing screens had dropped them into standby.

  “Stet, Suleden. Please stand by.”

  The second corvette, which had still not responded, began to step up acceleration toward Accord. In the confusion following the asteroid bombardment the corvette had continued to track in-system of the Accord forces.

  “Hades!”

  He touched the command circuit. “Greenpax blue, you have local control. Accommodate Suleden. Swersa, join up to Greenpax control. Greenpax needles”—he looked at the remaining clear needleboat numbers—“two seven, two nine, and four four, join to Greenpax control.”

  Swersa, Broward’s former copilot, had command of the Wett.

  “Captain, let’s see if we can catch that bastard.” Jimjoy again wished he were at the controls. Instead, he concentrated on the screen. The corvette couldn’t destroy Accord, but even corvette tacheads could do a great deal of damage to places like Thalos and Harmony.

  “Stet, Commander.” Analitta already had the Adams in pursuit of the unnamed Impie corvette.

  “Suleden, medical assistance arriving via needleboat.”

  Jimjoy nodded. Broward, coerced away from the Roosveldt, had the mop-up in hand.

  The corvette had dropped screens to half power—just enough to hold off a single needleboat—and channeled screen power into drive energy, almost reaching needleboat speed in a mad dash toward Accord.

  “Commander, request permission to cross-connect.”

  “Granted, Captain.”

  The Adams did not immediately gain on the corvette, but the gap began to narrow fractionally.

  Jimjoy began running vectors and speed options through the taccomp.

  “Needle two seven, interrogative torp status.”

  “Status green at point five.”

  “Two nine, interrogative torp status.”

  “Status green at point seven.”

  “Four four, interrogative status.”

  “Status green at point two.”

  The last pilot’s voice rang familiarly. Luren. Somehow, he was glad she didn’t have the most torps left.

  “Two nine, request intercept on charlie target. Coordinates follow.” He touched the laser tight-beam control, letting the taccomp send the data package.

  “Greenpax control, coordinates received. Proceeding.”

  “Why, Commander?” asked Gilman.

  Jimjoy took a deep breath, not moving his eyes from the screen as the needleboat began to race away from the Adams. “Because we need to slow him down before he can drop a half-dozen tacheads all over Accord.” He wiped his forehead again.

  On the screen the needleboat edged slightly off a straight stern chase and continued accelerating. Jimjoy nodded. It would take most of the needle’s power to complete the maneuver, but even an unsuccessful attack should delay the corvette.

  “Accord orbit control, this is Greenpax control. Single bandit charlie inbound this time.”

  Orbit control had three needleboats for a last-ditch defense, but Jimjoy doubted they would be necessary. The corvette seemed intent on reaching Accord itself, not orbit control.

  The representational screen showed orbit control’s full screens flicking into place. What it did not show was any EDI traces on Thalos. Again Jimjoy hoped that Imri had completed evacuations to the outlying stations. While the screens would prevent actual physical penetration, they would not prevent damage from second shocks and ground movement.

  “Greenpax control, understand single charlie inbound this time.”

  “That’s affirmative. Coordinates two seventy relative, orange, plus point zero two.”

  “We have charlie on screen. Good luck, control.”

  Jimjoy and Analitta watched the screens. Behind them, Broward took over the Suleden and continued to gather the scattered Accord forces. Before them, Accord grew in the screens.

  Needleboat two nine, after pulling abreast of, then in front of, the corvette, continued to move in-system, almost to within multiple planetary diameters of Accord, before beginning a tight turn.

  The Imperial corvette edged away from the needleboat, as if for an angled pass.

  Jimjoy swallowed hard, visualizing the corvette’s strategy, and hit the command circuits.

  “Orbit control. Launch needles on north hemi
swing to intercept torps. Coordinates and intercept parameters follow.” His fingers managed to catch up with his words, and the taccomp burned a string of figures.

  As he spoke, five torps flashed from the still-turning corvette toward Accord.

  “Greenpax control, orbit control. Launching this time. Coordinates received. Intercept probability point five to point seven.”

  “Understand point five. Do what you can.” Jimjoy shifted to the out-front needle. “Two nine, shift target to torps.”

  “Already shifting.”

  While he spoke, two torps flickered from the needleboat toward the corvette’s citybusters, followed by a third torp, and a fourth.

  One needle torp intersected one of the Imperial torps. A quick flash appeared on the screen.

  “Commander…”

  Jimjoy, catching the tone in Analitta’s voice, refocused on the corvette, which had continued to turn back toward the Adams.

  “…he’s head to head…”

  “Hades.” Jimjoy’s forehead felt suddenly damp. Whoever turned first was most vulnerable to torps. Too late a turn and a laser punch was certain. But the Imperial pilot wasn’t about to turn.

  “Two until impact.”

  A green dot accelerated from beside the Adams, burning toward the corvette.

  “Keep the faith, Commander.” Luren’s voice.

  Jimjoy stared momentarily, protesting that the needleboat would break on the corvette’s screens.

  “Oh…”

  All the screens went black.

  Jimjoy looked down at the blank plot board, fighting back the tears no one would understand, swallowing before looking up, quickly wiping his forehead and cheeks with his sleeve as if to wipe the sweat alone off his face.

  “What—” Gilman broke off as he looked at Jimjoy.

  “She…jump-shifted…” mumbled Analitta.

  “Right through his screens,” finished Jimjoy. “Yeah…all that kinetic energy…”

  “Brave frigging lady.”

  Jimjoy nodded, swallowed, and stared at the blank screens.

  As the screens returned to normal, Jimjoy noted that Luren had been accurate. Very accurate. Not even a single fragment remained of either ship.

  “Where to, Commander?” Analitta had left the Adams heading toward orbit control.

  “Thalos Station. We need to put her back together. See what help we can provide. Build more needleboats—just in case.” He looked into the depths of the representational screen. “Just in case.”

  “Greenpax control, this is orbit control. Looks like we only got one of the four that got here.”

  Jimjoy didn’t like the sound of the ops officer’s voice.

  “Interrogative targets.”

  “Precise coordinates unavailable. Impacts projected at Harmony, plus or minus five kays, unknown point on the equator, and Parundia City, plus or minus ten kays.”

  “Interrogative impact force.” Jimjoy’s voice was tired. It could have been worse, but Harmony…

  “Impact in Harmony area, estimate forty kaytee. No estimates for other targets.”

  “Stet. Greenpax control proceeding Thalos Station. Return needles to Accord control.”

  “Understand needles to remain Accord orbit control.”

  “That’s affirmative this time. Have them restock and stand down.”

  “Stet, Greenpax control. Congratulations, Commander.”

  “Don’t…” Jimjoy caught his tongue. “Orbit control?”

  “Interrogative, Greenpax control.”

  “Just…keep the faith…keep the faith…”

  LXXVI

  THE SMOKE LINGERED over the area ahead, bitter, oily, with a char to it even weeks after the firestorm. The tall man, wearing only his undress greens despite the chill of the short winter days, walked toward the security perimeter.

  “Ser, you can’t go there—ser! HALT!” The sentry, scarcely old enough to have finished secondary school, lifted the stunner rifle.

  The silver-haired man stopped and turned, fixing his green eyes on the young civil guard. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Ser—that is—” stammered the girl.

  “I know. I know,” answered the Ecolitan as he stepped closer. “I’ve been away.” In a lower tone, he added, “For too long.”

  She stepped closer, close enough that for an instant the plumes of white they exhaled in the cold air touched.

  The worn greens caught the sentry’s eyes, as did the single gold-and-green triangle on the man’s collar.

  “Ser…I’m sorry.” Her eyes flicked just away from meeting his, as if she were inspecting his shoulder. “I didn’t recognize you.”

  “That’s more than all right. I won’t cross the perimeter. I’d just like a last look.” He paused. “Why don’t you come with me?”

  She looked around, as if to see whether anyone were watching.

  “I doubt if it matters now, young lady. The biologic teams start in first thing in the morning.”

  Jimjoy began to walk toward the iridescent red plastic strip—held waist-high by a line of wooden stakes—that encircled the stricken area.

  “Yes, ser.” But she still looked back over her shoulder as she followed him. Behind them, uphill, was the abandoned Regency hotel. With a good section of central Harmony, it would be coming down in the days ahead.

  The stone-paved street continued—rubble-strewn—beyond the thin warning line, marking the residual radiation barrier, down toward the dark, water-filled, unnatural lake that still steamed. Beyond the barrier, little was recognizable.

  There had been mastercraft shops—places like Waltar’s, where Jurdin had set out the picnic set developed from the one he had made for Jimjoy, or Daniella’s, or Christina’s, the little bakery he had always enjoyed. Now there was charred wood, if that, seared stone, and lingering radiation.

  Farther down, at the blast center, where the old Government Square had been, was the unnatural lake whose murky waters steamed in the winter air.

  Dr. Narlian declared she could decontaminate the whole place, and she probably would, Jimjoy reflected.

  Beside him, the young sentry said nothing, looking nervously at the destruction, then behind them, then at the tall, silver-haired man with the green eyes that seemed black.

  Jimjoy took a deep breath, still looking downhill at the ruins. Had he delayed on Thalos just on the excuse of rebuilding the Accord forces?

  “Ser?”

  “Yes, young lady?”

  “Pardon me…. Are you…?”

  “For better or worse, Jimjoy Whaler—sometime Professor at the Institute—onetime Defense Commander of the Coordinate.” He did not wait to see the possible distaste in her eyes and turned his glance back to the destruction he had failed to prevent. He should have developed an evacuation plan for Harmony. But he hadn’t. He had only thought in terms of preventing the planet’s destruction.

  The odds said he had done well. Odds weren’t towns. Odds weren’t people. People like Jurdin Waltar, like Daniella, or Geoff Aspan, or Luren. Luren, whom he had saved once only to sacrifice again.

  “Ser?”

  He repressed a sigh, waiting for the inevitable question. “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?” He kept his voice soft. For what, young lady? For losing over forty needleboats and their pilots? For provoking a war that could have lasted forever and destroyed the most promising culture produced yet?

  “Just…for being there. For doing what had to be done.”

  Jimjoy turned to the youngster. “Aren’t those just words?”

  “No, ser. I heard you talk to the Council. I heard them talk for hours afterward. They were afraid to say anything. They were afraid to act. Sometimes, somebody has to act…. Sorry, ser. I didn’t mean…”

  Jimjoy touched her shoulder gently. “You’re right, and you’re wrong. Have to act, but it always costs more.” He gestured downhill. “They don’t care, not when they’re dead.”

  �
��Will you do it again—if the Empire comes?”

  Jimjoy shrugged. “I could lie. I won’t. I’ll do it again, only so no one else has to.” Then he laughed. “Sounds so frigging noble. I’m not.”

  He turned and walked back uphill.

  “Ser?”

  “I’m on duty. Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye…and thank you…. Again.”

  “For?”

  “Like you said…for being here.”

  He began to walk toward the groundcar that would take him to the shuttleport and to the flitter to the Institute.

  LXXVII

  28 Novem 3647

  New Augusta

  Dear Helen:

  I wish I could be with you and the children now, or that I could have been the one to break the news. I’ve put this off longer than I should have, and I know that a medal—even the highest honor bestowed—is cold consolation for a man like Mort.

  Mort was right, and he fought for what was right. He fought knowing he didn’t have the best ship and knowing that he’d been betrayed in a lot of ways by the government he supported. Because he gave everything and more, I’ve done something that maybe you wouldn’t like, and maybe you would. I don’t know, but I couldn’t take the thought that Mort faced down a pair of brand-new Fuardian cruisers for nothing.

  You may have seen it already, but right after the report came in, I gathered up all the faxcubes Mort had sent me, and everything else I could lay my hands on, and with a little help I wheedled an appointment with the Privy Council. I laid everything out—Mort’s tapes, the maintenance failures, Graylin’s resignation (he resigned because they refused to listen on either the Accord fiasco or the failure to build adequate ships to deal with the Fuards), and some other matters. I told them what Mort’s death meant. The Council took it to the Emperor. That was what led to his speech to the people. Even if he didn’t get Mort’s name right, it was important that Mort got the credit.

  Some people are claiming I did it to get Graylin’s job. I won’t turn it down if it’s offered. I don’t think Mort would have wanted me to refuse. I didn’t do it to get Mort a medal, and I didn’t do it to get me a job. I did it because the problems won’t go away by ignoring them. I did it because men and women like Mort need better ships.