Imperfect Sword

by Jack Campbell

  —

  MORGAN had made a mistake, allowed herself to be spotted while killing that last sentry because she hadn’t realized there would be a tertiary backup sensor monitoring the sentinel. Tertiary sensors were not standard in Syndicate practice for this layer of security in this kind of building, raising the question of just how many other additional security measures might be ahead of her. Alarm sirens split the predawn night as Morgan spent two seconds deciding whether to press on and try to reach the transmitter in this building. But, even if she managed to get past the alerted security, there did not seem any chance of having the time to get a warning message out to the general before the transmitter was disabled and overwhelming force cornered her.

  Fading backward, Morgan moved like a ghost toward the access she had opened through the fences protecting the building. Extra lights were on, sweeping the cleared area between the building and the fences for anyone whose heat signature was blocked well enough to remain undetected by the infrared sensors. An aerospace craft swung into sight overhead, sliding over the building, weapons tracking in search of targets.

  Someone had taken some very extensive extra measures to protect those comm terminals powerful enough to punch a signal through the wide-scale jamming that had replaced the comm stand-down. These extra security measures, too, had not been in the snake files. Someone had hidden them from not only spies like Morgan but from most of the snakes in Ulindi as well.

  Morgan rarely felt any trace of uncertainty, but as she added things up, a very ugly picture had begun to appear. Ulindi had looked weak even when closely examined. An inviting target with, in Supreme CEO Haris, the sort of ruler who would motivate the leaders of Midway to strike at him.

  But hidden beneath the surface had been another Ulindi, and what had been happening lately, the comm stand-down and the jamming and this extra security, implied that someone was trying to ensure that their prey did not see or hear anything before an ambush was sprung.

  These thoughts ran through her mind as Morgan took careful aim on the hovering aerospace craft and put two shots into the spot where the lateral controls were least protected on the side facing her.

  The warbird’s weapons swung toward the place where the shots had been fired, but Morgan was no longer there. As the aerospace craft twisted in place to head for the spot, it lurched wildly as half of its lateral controls failed. At low altitude, the craft couldn’t recover before sliding close enough to the building to clip it.

  Morgan huddled against the building, just around the corner from where the aerospace craft was noisily self-destructing. The instant the wave of concussion, heat, and debris was past, Morgan ran, heading for the path she had cut through the fences. Behind her, part of the building’s wall collapsed in a prolonged rumble punctuated by the thuds of large pieces of the warbird crashing into the soil all around.

  She made it to the fence as shots finally erupted, tearing through the air around her while Morgan raced through the access path she had painstakingly created to get inside the complex. She had just cleared the last fence when a shot slammed into her right arm from close range. Morgan rolled with the blow, spinning to a halt on the ground with her pistol up and aimed at the guard who had waited to see if she was dead before he fired again. He never got the chance as Morgan put a shot between his eyes.

  Forcing herself to her feet despite the pain of her wound, Morgan put away her pistol, grabbed the guard’s body, and held it before her as she moved toward the perimeter road through the confusion.

  Two more guards were standing by a vehicle, looking around anxiously, their weapons ready. “This guy got hit!” Morgan yelled at them as she carried the dead guard toward them at a trot.

  “How bad?” one of guards asked, lowering his weapon and taking a step to meet her.

  “Hey—!” the second guard started to say as he got a better look at her.

  Morgan dropped her burden, yanking out the dead guard’s own sidearm as the body fell, and shot both guards. It took only a couple of seconds to find the key fob in one of the guard’s pockets, start the vehicle, and block the remote override routines in its control software. Morgan hauled one of the bodies into the vehicle and tore off down the road.

  There was a checkpoint, of course, but once again Morgan yelled, “I got a wounded sentry here!” and raced through it.

  That bought her enough time to clear the checkpoint, but shots pursued the vehicle as Morgan floored the accelerator.

  She held on for about a kilometer, activating the vehicle’s autodrive so she could apply a field bandage from the vehicle’s first-aid kit to her arm. Morgan set the vehicle controls to continue at maximum safe speed down the road, then rolled out and down the embankment, slamming the door shut behind her as she dropped away.

  It hurt all the way down the slope, especially every time she rolled over her wounded arm.

  Morgan stayed in place just long enough to rebandage her injury to stop the bleeding. She headed off at right angles to the frenzy around the complex, knowing that sensors and searchers would be looking for someone heading directly away from it. By sunrise she was still moving but barely conscious as she stumbled through an alley in the town where she had prepared an emergency hidy-hole sometime before.

  She found the hidden access, pulled aside the concealing cover, slid inside the cramped space, and barely managed to get the cover back into position. Her confused thoughts were working mainly on instinct at that point, unable to formulate any clear plans for what to do next. Morgan passed out to the rhythm of her mind repeating the same words. Got to warn him . . . got to warn him . . . got to warn . . .

  —

  “IN another fifteen minutes, there will be two hours’ travel time remaining to the inhabited planet,” Senior Watch Specialist Czilla reported.

  Marphissa scowled at her display. The freighters were braking their velocity at the best rate they could manage, which didn’t say much. The planet was only about four light-minutes away now, so close that the images she was seeing of Supreme CEO Haris’s heavy cruiser and light cruiser were getting close to real time.

  As of four minutes ago, neither cruiser had moved from its orbit about the planet.

  Diaz knew what was bothering her. “Why don’t they do something? Maybe they are planning to surrender to us.”

  “Half of their crews are probably snakes!” Marphissa objected. “They would have to be carrying out their orders from Haris right up until they mutinied, and why would Haris have them just sit in orbit instead of sending them to try to hit our freighters? They should have come after us days ago. It’s almost time to notify General Drakon to prepare for his landings, and those damned cruisers are still just sitting there! I don’t like this. It’s like they’re waiting for something.”

  “What could they be waiting for?”

  “If I knew that—”

  Urgent alerts blared, cutting off Marphissa’s comment as she gazed at the warning symbols springing to life on her display.

  “Kommodor!” Senior Watch Specialist Czilla called out, his voice shaking. “We have just seen more mobile forces, at the closest gas giant.”

  “They’ve been behind it since we got here,” Diaz said, studying his display with an appalled expression. “They must have known we were coming and stayed positioned behind the gas giant to hide from us until now. How did they know and where did Haris get more ships?”

  “Spies must be how. They knew not only that we were coming but about when we would get here. They must have a good inside source at Midway.” Marphissa stared at her display as the sensors on her warships combined their readings and produced an assessment. One battleship. One heavy cruiser. Three Hunter-Killers. She didn’t need the sensors to confirm the identity of the warships. “It’s Happy Hua’s flotilla. The one that escaped from Midway and bombarded Kane.”

  Kapitan Diaz shook his head, bewildered. “Happy Hua’s flotilla? But they’re Syndicate. They should have attacked Haris.”

 
“They didn’t.” The only possible reason struck her. “Haris is still Syndicate. He must be. That’s the only reason why CEO Boucher wouldn’t have attacked him.”

  “But,” Diaz gasped, still trying to recover from the surprise, “why hide out there? Why not hit us earlier? They’re far enough away now that we can outrun them if they come after us.”

  “Not all of us can run fast enough,” Marphissa said, her voice grim. “They waited until we were deep into this star system and a long ways from any of the jump points. Have your specialists run some vectors. Tell me if there is any way for us to get our freighters out of this star system before that battleship can catch them.”

  Diaz’s eyes went from her to his display, his face stricken. He gave the order to his specialists, then leaned close to Marphissa so he could speak in a very low voice. “I don’t need to run vectors. That battleship is in position to block any escape run by our freighters unless they head for the jump point for Kiribati.”

  “That’s my assessment also,” Marphissa said. “I was hoping I was wrong.”

  Less than a minute later, Czilla’s report confirmed her fears. “The only route the freighters could take that would avoid the battleship is heading across the star system and taking the jump point to Kiribati in Syndicate-controlled space, Kommodor. Any attempt to return to Midway or reach the jump point for Maui has a one hundred percent chance of intercept by the Syndicate battleship.”

  “If only these freighters were faster!” Diaz snarled.

  “They’re not,” Marphissa said. “You might as well wish that we had a couple of battleships of our own, or that Black Jack would show up in the nick of time again.” She gestured toward the comms specialist. “I need to speak with General Drakon immediately.”

  It only took a few seconds for Drakon to reply. He did not look happy. “The crew of this freighter is really upset. Are they right? Is that a Syndicate battleship?”

  “Yes. Commanded by the same snake CEO who attacked Midway and bombarded Kane.” Marphissa wasn’t about to sugarcoat the situation. “They were waiting for us.”

  “No matter what else happens, we need to make sure that information gets back to Midway so that President Iceni will know we have a serious internal security problem. What are our options?”

  “Option one,” Marphissa said, “the freighters continue on to the main inhabited world and drop you off before the battleship can get here to stop you. That gives you a fighting chance on the ground, but after that you’ll have to worry about a battleship overhead. Option two, all of the freighters continue onward at the best acceleration they can manage, all the way to the jump point for Kiribati, and jump for that star, hoping that the Syndicate doesn’t have anything waiting to ambush you at Kiribati.”

  Drakon shook his head. “These freighters have limited life support, food, and water for the numbers of soldiers they are carrying. We have enough to get back to Midway if the landing was aborted, but traveling across the rest of the width of this star system followed by a jump for Kiribati would put us close to exhaustion of everything, even if there weren’t more Syndicate warships waiting there.”

  “You could try doubling back, jumping back for Ulindi right after arriving at Kiribati, hoping that all of the Syndicate warships followed you to Kiribati, and that they wouldn’t get there until those clumsy freighters managed to get turned around. But you’d have to put your people on starvation rations starting right now, and even then you might not make it back before they were exhausted.”

  She hadn’t worked much with Drakon in the past, and was impressed now when he accepted her assessment without demanding she come up with something easier even if it was also impossible. “What about heading back for Midway, or Maui?” Drakon asked.

  “Neither of those are really an option. The battleship will catch you and blow those freighters apart. There’s no uncertainty. The freighters can’t outrun the battleship if they head for those jump points, and my ships cannot stop the battleship from destroying them.”

  “All right.” Drakon rubbed his chin, eyeing her. “It sounds to me, Kommodor, like our best option is going ahead with the landing. As you said, that gives us a fighting chance, which we will not have otherwise.”

  “That would be my recommendation, General. You may have to hold guns on the freighter crews to keep them from running before all of your forces are off-loaded. My ships will carry out the planned bombardment of targets on the surface, but after that you will be on your own. I will do everything I can to distract and engage and maybe even damage that battleship, but I cannot promise anything.”

  Drakon smiled dourly, his lips pressed into a thin line. “We had a lot more warships available when that battleship attacked Midway, and they couldn’t stop it. Kommodor, from what I have seen of you, and from what both President Iceni and Captain Bradamont have said, we couldn’t ask for a better mobile forces officer to guard our backs against that battleship. I know that you will do everything possible with the forces available to you.”

  “Th-thank you, sir.” It was not the response she had expected when she had called Drakon with such horrible news.

  “We’ll get down to the surface, take out the Syndicate ground forces, then scatter,” Drakon continued. “If you can keep that battleship occupied for a little while, we’ll get dispersed enough that it will have to worry about bombarding every square meter of that planet in order to get us.”

  “Yes, sir. We’ll keep it busy for as long as possible. My flotilla will escort the freighters until we are close enough to the planet to be sure you can off-load without Haris’s warships getting to you. We will protect you to the utmost of our ability. For the people!” Marphissa sat rigidly straight and saluted Drakon.

  Drakon smiled again, returning the salute. “For the people,” he echoed. “If the worst happens here, don’t get your forces wiped out fighting a hopeless battle. Get back to Midway and help President Iceni. She can hold out, Midway can hold out, even if we lose all the ground forces here. As long as people like you stick by her.”

  He ended the transmission, leaving Marphissa gazing at nothing and blinking away tears. Damn. And to think I didn’t trust him. “Kapitan Diaz.”

  “Yes, Kommodor?”

  “Let’s put our heads together. If there is any way to slow down that battleship with what we’ve got, we need to figure it out. We have to give those ground forces all the time we can.”

  “Kommodor . . .” Diaz didn’t look at her as he spoke again in a barely audible voice. “There’s no possible way. They’re doomed.”

  “No,” Marphissa said, surprised by the fierceness in her voice. “We were doomed when Manticore’s propulsion controls were shot out. Have you forgotten already? But we found a way, and they may find a way. We do not quit, we do not give up, we give them everything that we can, so if they do die on that planet, it will not be because we did not do everything that human skill and courage and effort can achieve. Do you hear me?” She had raised her voice so that it rang across the bridge. “Everyone. Do you hear me? We do not give up, we do not falter, while one of our soldiers still lives and fights on the surface of that planet!”

  A ragged chorus of agreement and cheers answered her words, Diaz also raising his head and nodding to her firmly. “Comm specialist,” he said, “send a vid of the Kommodor’s last statement to the other units. Your orders, Kommodor?”

  What were her orders? Marphissa wondered. It was one thing to make a sweeping statement about giving the effort her all, but another thing to figure out what specific steps to take.

  Marphissa focused on the nearest enemies, those on the planet and those in Haris’s two cruisers. “Since we’re going ahead with the assault on the planet, we’ll accompany the freighters for another half hour. At that point, our warships will break away from the freighters earlier than planned and move to engage Haris’s heavy cruiser and light cruiser. We’ll launch the bombardment as scheduled, but from farther out than planned.”


  “We’ll get scatter,” Diaz warned. “It’s not just the greater distance from the planet when we launch. We’ll also be dropping the projectiles at a lower angle through the atmosphere. We can’t have pinpoint precision under those circumstances.”

  Marphissa scowled, studying the bombardment plan. It did call for aiming at specific portions of the snake headquarters complex, but Diaz was right that the odds of a perfect hit were low when they had to launch under difficult circumstances. Under the Syndicate, no one would have been allowed to worry about rounds that missed the target and struck in the surrounding city, but she did not want to take even one step back onto that road. “There might be an answer. Show me a circular error probable for a bombardment round aimed at the center of the snake complex under the new range and atmospheric entry angle we’ll be using.”

  Diaz gestured to his weapons specialist, who worked frantically for a few moments.

  A circle appeared on Marphissa’s image of the bombardment targets. A circle centered on the snake headquarters complex and extending about four meters beyond its boundaries into the wide-open area that surrounded the complex. “There’s our answer. It’s not perfect, but it will have to do.”

  “Kommodor,” a puzzled Diaz asked, “I’m sorry, but I do not—”

  “We aim every round at the center of the complex! Most will hit near there. The rest should scatter randomly within this error circle, meaning they will hit everywhere inside the complex.”

  “But we can’t be sure they’ll hit everywhere,” Diaz objected. “It’s statistical and random. One little patch may take a dozen hits, and another nearby area might be untouched.”

  “I know that.” Marphissa kept her voice level with effort. “It’s still our best option because aiming for specific points will face the same circular error probable for every shot, only centered wherever that particular projectile was aimed. And any spot that doesn’t take a direct hit but sustains a lot of near misses is still going to take some damage.”